


What a Long Road Home

by orphan_account



Series: TWD Endverse [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Addict Castiel, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Bibliophile Castiel, Bibliophile Daryl, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel survives, Croats are Walkers, Drug Abuse, Endverse/Walking Dead are in the same universe, Episode: s01e03 Tell It To The Frogs, Follows TWD canon timeline from, Graphic Amputation of Metaphysical Wings, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Just Roll With It, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Past Prostitution, Sam is Lucifer, The Walking Dead/Supernatural Crossover, Timeline's a little wonky, and onward, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 385,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean had finally gone somewhere Castiel just couldn't follow.Armed with a stolen car and a monkey on his back, Cas tries to outrun the inner demons that are hunting him down, and they're faster. But upon meeting a group of people fighting to survive in a new world they don't fully comprehend, he can start to see the extent of humanities perseverance beyond what he's read in books. And on common ground with a man as outside the scope of normality as himself, a man who wears woven wings on his back, he can start to let go of decadence, and stop calling it living.





	1. The Road So Far

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be dealing with a lot of heavy subject matter, and is probably going to get pretty uncomfortable at points, but I will do my best to post appropriate warnings in the notes at the beginning of each chapter. This is my first post on here, and the first piece of fan-fiction I've written in a very long time, but I had this idea rolling around in my head for a while now and just had to get it out. Feedback is very much appreciated, enjoy! 
> 
> Thoughts of suicide  
> Referenced drug use  
> Drug withdrawal

 

It had been 96 hours of driving from South Dakota, and then twenty some odd grueling days of walking in the scorching, Georgia sun.

The Impala ran out of gas again on the border of Tennessee and Georgia, and the cars outside of Chattanooga had all been siphoned, not a drop left in any of the tanks he came across, no matter how many cars were scattered on the highway. He had attempted to make his way into the city, determined not to leave the car that had become his home over the past few days, the only link he had left to the first friends he had ever really known, but he was surrounded by Croats quickly, barely escaping with his life intact and uninfected. He resigned himself to the fact that the only way he was going to survive is if he started walking, and he cried mutely as he walked away from the Impala, leaving her entombed on the highway between rows of sedans and minivans.

He picked a direction and began his slow march onward. What he was marching to, he didn’t know. What he was marching for? Who could say? He picked south east on his map, because he decided that he wanted to see the ocean one more time before he died. He knew in his heart he was going to die, there was no question there. That had been the first of many finalities he realized when he fell, his inevitable mortality. And he hated it, despised it as it loomed over him, a never wavering companion that wouldn't let him forget what he had lost. So he drowned it in booze, drugs and sex, and for a while it was quiet, but it never truly died. And now, walking through the decimating heat, alone and onto his last few rails of OxyContin, he felt his sweat turn cold. It was back with a vengeance.

It was his death march he mused, and started humming Chopin’s Sonata No. 2 under his breath as he walked.

He knew it was a fitting punishment, when he ran out of drugs on the side of the road just outside of Atlanta, GA. He pushed on pathetically, but as his legs began their telltale trembling he moved off of the road and into the forest. He figured if he was going to die like an animal, it would be more fitting to do so in the woods. And he would die, why wouldn’t he? He had scorned his fathers will, he had helped to bring about the end of the world, he had been complacent in the rise of Lucifer, and what had he done when faced with humanities last stand? Dean asked him to give his life, a suicide mission, with the objective being a bullet between the Morningstar’s eyes, and he ran. He stole his car and ran. He was a coward. He was afraid of dying and he couldn’t face his friend, the very friend he fell for, when he told him for the first time, the only time since he raised him from perdition, that he just couldn’t follow.

Dean was dead now, he had to be. And Lucifer still walked the earth, if the crowds of Croats hunting him in the woods were any indication, and it came as no surprise. He knew the second Dean told him of his plan that he couldn’t do it. No matter what he thought, no matter how hardened he had become, he could never shoot his brother. Even if he knew in his heart that Sam was long gone, burnt up from the inside out, he couldn’t look into the face that he once loved and cared for, and pull the trigger. Dean was dead, and there was officially no one on this earth who knew his name.

And now? Now, Castiel was slumped against a tree, Dean’s colt in his hand, knocking off rounds into any Croats that approached him, uncaring that the crack of his shots drew more. He knew it would be faster, less painful if he turned the gun on himself: stuck the barrel under his chin and squeezed. Boom, over. But again, he was a coward. He didn’t know what would happen if he died. Would he go to the pit? To purgatory? Certainly not to heaven, though to him that would be the worst punishment of all. He couldn’t take not knowing, he couldn’t stand the thought of eternity anymore. He could live as a Croat though. Surely there were no people left on earth, or he would have found them by now. He had driven across half a continent and met no one, no survivors. So what did it matter if he wandered as a mindless, undead killer, if there was no one alive to kill? At least he would be gone, blissfully unaware of all of his wrongs, his aching mortality silenced once and for all without the negative consequences of an afterlife. Besides, it’s not like he had a soul.

His death by the hands of a Croat would not be swift, but siting here in the blazing sun waiting for it, going through the worst withdrawal he had ever felt… he thought it would be a kindness by comparison.

The gun was growing heavy in his hand when he felt the telltale _click-click-click_ of the hammer. About time, he mused as he lowered it to the ground, running his fingers over the ivory grip and closing his eyes. He tried to think of Dean: strong, stalwart with his soul so strong and bright. He tried to think of Sam: tormented, suffering… doing what he thought was the only thing he could but not knowing his true worth. He tried to think of all the people at the camp, all the souls that were now lost. Of his brothers and sisters in heaven. But all he could think when he felt the closeness of a lumbering Croat in front of him was how despicable he was, and that self-indulgence was enough to bring him back to reality.

Facing his death, he would rather serve the _servants_ of Lucifer than accept his punishment… and he still pitied himself more than the friends he left behind to die? Yes, he was pathetic, yes he was disgusting and yes, he _did_ deserve to die. But he did not deserve un-death. He deserved instead the eternal torment that waited for him in his afterlife, whatever that may be. And he deserved to struggle on this planet, locked in this mortal coil, until finally it was torn from him swiftly and painfully. This was his punishment, and it could be his penance, if he accepted it. He was an angel of the fucking Lord, at one point at least, and if he knew anything it was atonement. He would not fall to pride like his brother, he would not risk the harm of others out of cowardice, and he would not die like this.

He opened his eyes, pulling his blade from its place on his hip, ready to kill the Croat or accept his sentence, all the while his muscles failed with sickness and bile rose in his throat. The crossbow bolt through the creature’s eye socket cut him off before he could manage a swipe.

“Oh good,” he thought as he fell back against the tree, the Croat toppling above him and pinning him to the ground, “A person. Wouldn’t that just be my luck, that in his weakest moment, Castiel is once again saved by a human?” He felt himself sinking then, his eyes growing heavy as he struggled to breathe beneath the Croat, sweat sliding down the sides of his face and he vomited up into the air and sending it dribbling down his chin, the sickness and heatstroke finally pulling him under. He barely registered the pressure of the body being lifted from his chest, two rough hands gripping his arms, rolling him and lifting at his clothes, looking for bites and scratches he imagined. He tried to say something witty, something like “Normally I'd charge at least a 40 for this kind of manhandling,” but the quip died in his throat and came out a garbled groan.

“Shut up, ain’t no point in wastin’ your breath. I got you.”

The voice was gritty and slurred, a type of southern drawl he had never heard before. It sounded winded, masculine and kind, if curt. He half hoped he got to put a face to it sometime, but he reminded himself he had no right to aspirations. Penance, Castiel, remember? Fuck, he thought, I’m so stupid sometimes.

“Yeah, so am I. Shane is gonna flip his shit when I come back to camp with you lookin’ like this. Are you overdosing, or just jonesing?”

Oh, apparently he had said that out loud. Neat. He tried again, startled by the unexpected gruffness of his already deep voice, “I ran out of Oxy three nights ago. I’ve been taking Klonopin but they’ve just been making me dizzy, and they aren’t helping with the bouts of violent diarrhea.”

The voice snorted and coughed out a laugh despite himself, “Fucking gross.” He was suddenly hefted onto broad shoulders, ass in the air and head tilted down toward the ground. He might have at one point felt humiliated by this forced supplication, but in that moment he was just relieved he wouldn’t have to be walking, “Look, I’m gonna take you to a place. A camp. There’s folks there that won’t mind taking you in. They’re okay people, we just might have to hide that you’re a junky, y’hear?”

He nodded mutely, his head bouncing off of his saviors back, “Thank you.” He managed to mutter before slipping out of consciousness.

“Don’t bother thanking me yet" was the last thing he heard before his world spun once, and disappeared. 


	2. Lois St NW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced Drug Use  
> Thoughts of Suicide  
> 

“What the fuck are you doing, Daryl?” he muttered vehemently as he climbed through the trees, unconscious stranger on his shoulder and carrying a very ineffectual crossbow in one hand. No way he could wield it, not one handed and not with this guy hanging limply off of him. He was tall, few inches taller than Daryl but nowhere near the same weight. With his hand under his ass he could feel the bones of his thighs, knobby knees digging into his stomach, and Daryl could tell he was much lighter than he had any right to be. He could see it in his gaunt face how long he had gone without eating.

He also knew this man was an addict right from the get go. Daryl had never touched the hardest stuff personally, but he’d seen it cleave through Merle and his friends over and over again. They’d be free of it, through a stint in prison or when they ran out of money, and it never mattered, because every time they’d go crawling back. Sooner or later, they’d go back. At least this guy seemed to not be injecting, but still, that monkey’s gonna climb one way or another.

So he had never touched smack, but he still had run-ins with other stuff, and he knew what it felt like to hurt for it. He made sure to steer clear of heroin, but he hadn’t been so lucky with amphetamines. It had been his brothers doing, and it had fucked him up good and proper, though not for long. Once Merle got thrown back in the slammer, or went on a bender and weren’t around for weeks on end, Daryl was left reeling and sick… but he never used unless his brother was there. He knew the chills, the aches and pains, the sadness and anxiety. That was the worst of it, really. The physical symptoms will pass in time, but coupled with the depression it feels like you’ll never be right again. Maybe that’s why this guy was willing to let himself become walker chow.

What a way that was to go.

He felt the weight of the colt in his pocket, the heft of the man’s duffle on his other shoulder, the sun beating down through the trees and he cursed. He weren’t gonna make it back to the camp through the woods, so he took to the trail. Unfortunately, this meant no sneaking in through the back, and he was gonna have to face Shane head on, Rick too.

Their power struggle was really none of his concern, still banking on the possibility of cutting and running should his brother not come back to the camp, but he still couldn’t help musing on it when he snuck out of the woods. Rick had shown up a few weeks ago, left Merle to chop his goddamned hand off, and now he was the ipso facto leader of this little group, even though he wouldn’t admit it himself. He didn’t want to push Shane’s buttons, and Daryl didn’t fault him for it. Shane was batshit crazy. He didn’t know if he was already a few screws short before the world went to shit, or if it happened after, and he don’t blame him for it neither. Hell, anyone was allowed to be however crazy they want now anyways, no rules once society crumbles and all that. He just didn’t want to be around when shit hit the fan.

He fought his screaming muscles as they came to the hill of the quarry, thinking on the stranger he was carrying to take his mind off his struggles. Where did he come from? He was dirty as sin, covered in blood and muck, hair greasy and matted, and he looked a damn mess. A scruffy kind of beard, sunken cheek bones, thin, wiry limbs that were still wrapped in strong muscle… this guy had been walking, maybe running, a long time. Should throw him in the water, he considered, might help him feel better. And wake up, too.

“Daryl!?”

The shout came as a question, so they couldn’t have seen what he was carrying yet, just that it was something. T-Dog and Andrea came down the hill, and immediately helped him shift the stranger off his shoulder and onto theirs. Taking a good long look at the man’s face, Andrea cast him a questioning look while pulling the guys arm around her neck, but he just shrugged. Only one person he really had to answer to here and that was—

“Daryl, who the hell is that?”

Rick, thank fuck it was Rick and not Shane, “Dunno, just found him in the woods, bout to become walker food. I checked him for bites and scratches, he’s clean, but I think he’s heat sick. It looks like he’s not had any food or water for a few days.” That’ll explain away the sickness and the aching at least. Daryl held on to the stranger’s bag, tightly. He’d check it in later to see if the man had any identification, or more drugs.

“So you brought him back here?” Ah, there was Shane.

“Of course I did, what am I just gonna leave him in the woods to die? Hell no, he’s sick, and not the wrong kind of sick neither.”

“Shane.” Rick held up his hand before they could get into it, “Daryl’s right, we’re still people, we still help each other. If it weren’t for that family that helped me when I got out of the hospital, I would have died straight away, and never have made it here. We got to help each other, or we’re no better than the walkers.” Ever the diplomat, Rick walked over the stranger and watched his face, before grasping his chin and maneuvering his head around, looking for injuries of the biter kind, “Get him into the RV for now. We’ll try and wake him up, get some water into him and see what he has to say. Maybe he knows something we don’t.”

In the fading light of the late evening sun, they got him into the RV with very little difficulty, T-Dog commenting on how skinny he was while Andrea just gave him the stink eye. Daryl went to follow, but he was intercepted. Shane stepped in front of him, stopping him with a hand to his chest.

“Don’t touch me man!” Daryl spat reactively at the touch, jumping back and glaring, “What the hell do you want?”

“Don’t you ever, ever pull that shit again,” Shane kept his voice low, this conversation meant to be private. He moved his hand forward again, ignoring Daryl’s outburst and jabbing two fingers firmly into his solar plexus, “You have no idea who that guy is. He could be a murderer, a pedophile, a fucking cannibal for all we know, and you have no right to bring him in here, to our home. You do something this stupid again, you’ll answer to me, not Rick.”

He didn’t leave Daryl much time to reply, turning on his heel and stomping back to camp, and the insults died on Daryl’s tongue anyway when Rick called for him. He stepped towards the RV, but when the strap slipped and he remembered the bag on his shoulder, he stopped short. He didn’t know what this man had on him, but he knew the others would probably want to go through it to make sure he was safe. So before stepping into the truck, he ducked around it and dropped to an easy squat, opening the duffel when he was sure no one was watching.

Fuck this guy had a lot of books. He noticed least seven novels in the bag, all but one complete mysteries to him. The one that he recognized, he was reading himself before all of this shit hit the fan: _The Grapes of Wrath_. It was dog eared and well loved, and as he flipped through it he noticed handwritten notes in the margins, small, flowing script that tapered down at the edges, the strangers thoughts on this or that passage. A circled line stuck out amongst the others, having been highlighted as well. “’How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?’” he read aloud under his breath, noting a line running from its position at the center of the page to the margin, ending in short, written memo, “We don’t, but we become new animals.”

He flipped through it again, but as he went to set it down he noticed a thick piece of paper sticking up from the top of the book… a picture. Pulling it out, he saw the man he had just rescued standing with a group of other men, all as haggard as the next, at a place called Camp Chitaqua, South Dakota.

“Fucking South Dakota? He made it here from South Dakota?” He couldn’t believe it, no way he walked this far either, he must have had a car at some point. Flipping the picture, he found the names of all the men scrawled on the back in order of left to right, followed by a date. Following the names, he finds the strangers name easily, “Castiel. Huh, what a fruity fucking name.”

The rest of the duffle bag is fairly normal, more books, (12 now, one of them an old, battered journal) and a change or two of clothes. A hat, a jacket, an electric razor with a solar battery pack (he was gonna have a hell of a time keeping people away from that), a toothbrush and toothpaste, a flask (empty) and a strange, silver blade. He found pills at the bottom of the bag, but nothing other than two Klonopin and a bottle of Advil, so with a deep breath Daryl zipped the bag back up and head inside.

“What the hell were you waiting for?” Rick had his back turned, watching Dale try to slip pillows under Castiel’s head without moving him too much, “We got him settled but he doesn’t seem to be waking up.”

“I was looking through his shit,” Daryl answered honestly, not seeing any cause to lie now that he knew there’s nothing too elicit in Castiel’s things. He heaved the bag onto the fold out table, sending pens and books scattering in the process, too busy rifling through the bag once more to notice the dirty look Dale sends him on his way out of the RV, “His names Castiel, and he’s from a camp in South Dakota. Here.”

Thrusting the picture towards Rick, he waited for him to take it, “South Dakota? How the hell did he end up here? And why?” Daryl shrugged at the question, silently agreeing with Rick’s disbelief. It was a hell of a trek; before the world ended, it would take about a day or so to drive from South Dakota to Georgia but now, with the highways all clogged and shit going down everywhere? He would have had to take the back roads, and who knows what he saw on that journey.

“He was walking when I found him, looked as if he’d been at it for a couple days. He must have lost his car somewhere along the way. We didn’t get to talking much before he passed out, just asked if he was alright and told him what I was gonna do. He also had this,” Daryl laid the ivory gripped colt on the table, “Not loaded, no ammo, I saw him fire off his last shots at the walker that was coming at him. Oh, and these too.” First the hunting knife Daryl had taken from his thigh holster, then the strange silver blade went down on the table to join the gun, “Fucking strange looking knife if you ask me. Probably don’t do any good either, it looks like a decoration more than anything.”

“Well it’s sharp,” Rick pointed out as he lifted it, running his fingers perpendicular along the edge of the blade, “So if it is a decoration, than he found a way to make a weapon out of it. This is a really nice gun, too.” He dropped the blade while he was talking, and switched it for the pistol, “Custom colt, M1911… it’s engraved,” He rotated the gun in his hands, showing Daryl the name carved into the bottom of the grip, “John Winchester. Who’s John Winchester?”

“None of the guys in the picture, maybe a relative or something?” Daryl pondered, “Looks like a hand me down, definitely a service piece. It’s pretty weather-beaten, and it’s an older model.”

“Maybe. Either way, we need him to wake up so we can see if he’s kosher.” Rick gave him a pointed look and his hackles began to raise, but he saw there was no judgement there, only concern. He relaxed, and Rick continued, “I meant what I said man, I am glad you saved him instead of just letting him die. But we do have to be careful, we don’t know him from Adam. We need to check him out first, then get him acclimated little by little. No full run of the camp until we know for sure he’s okay.”

Nodding, Daryl leaned back against the table and swivelled his neck so he was looking over Rick’s shoulder at the bed, “Yeah, fair enough. I can watch him when he comes to, keep him around. No point in forcing anyone else to be his shadow… I mean hell, I’m the one who thought to bring him back.”

Rick might have kept talking after that, but Daryl didn’t hear it. He was too busy staring past him, at the man on the bed, this Castiel. He looked small at that moment, swallowed by pillows and blankets, so skinny he barely sunk down in the mattress. His brow was furrowed and his breathing was sharp and shallow, he could hear it over Rick’s voice. He could see the sweat beading on his cheeks, and caught the almost imperceptible jerks of his legs and fingers as the junk-sickness ran through him. He’s gonna feel like hell when he wakes up, Daryl supposed, and as he was about to look away, Castiel sat up.

He didn’t sit up fast, but he didn’t rouse slowly either. He was just laying down one minute, and in the next he had quietly slid his arms up the mattress, leaning on his elbows and blearily taking stock of his surroundings. He looked around the room, a discreet motion, his head merely rolling along his shoulders and his eyes flicking across each surface he could find, cataloguing until they met Daryl’s.

The light from the window fell across his face, casting half of it in shadow and illuminating the other. He looked odd, like he didn’t belong there, reclining on a bed in a strangers RV. His posture was wrong, Daryl discerned, he was too fluid. One long line, beginning at the top of his head and ending at the toes of his boots, and when he moved one muscle, the others moved in reply, like ripples on the surface of a lake. He moved like a wildcat, lithe and graceful and with precision that seemed otherworldly. He had never seen a human move like that, and even though he was sick and obviously suffering, he was poised.

His eyes were blue, but not blue like Daryl’s own, ice cold and sharp, and they weren’t like anything he had ever seen in real life either. They were blue like pictures he’d seen of the sea, deep and dark, reflective. They were challenging eyes, the same eyes he’d seen on predators like owls and foxes when he ran into them in the woods, and they issued a warning: I will defend myself. He was weak and sick, surrounded by strangers and yet he was cool and collected, self-sure in mind at least, even though his body trembled and ached.

It was impressive, but not one to back down from a challenge or to show weakness, Daryl met it head on. He stared back, standing straight and shutting Rick up in the process. Castiel met his gaze and held it, not backing down until Rick started walking towards him. Outnumbered, he just laughed mirthlessly and flopped down onto his back again, sending pillows bouncing and covering his face with his hands.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Rick asked gently, now standing beside the bed, his back to the wall and all of his attention on Castiel.

“Oh, peachy.” Castiel groaned from behind his hands, slowly sliding them down his face so they only covered him mouth, catching Rick in his wild gaze, “I feel like I was hit by a truck, and then set on fire.”

“And you ain’t bit?”

“No.” Struggling to sit up on shaking arms, Castiel managed to get himself leaned halfway against the wall of the trailer, “I would have put a bullet in my head if that were the case. I’m not turning into a Croat.”

“Croat?” That was new. Daryl had heard them be called zombies, biters, walkers, but never Croats, “What’s a Croat? The walkers?”

A somber nod. “Yeah, we called them Croats at our camp, short for Croatoan… when the dead stopped staying dead and people started getting sick, graffiti began showing up all over Sioux Falls, just one word: ‘Croatoan.’” He shrugged, puffing up the pillows before shoving a few behind his back, “It was eerie, and a few of the guys were pretty superstitious, so we started calling them, the ones that turned, Croats. You know the story right, of Roanoke?” Rick and Daryl nodded at the same time, but it was the questioning look Rick paused to give Daryl before continuing on that sent his blood boiling.

He hated that. The whole camp assumed that because of how he and his brother were that he was stupid or something, but that wasn’t the case at all. Sure he never finished school, but that’s cause his dad pulled him out. They had no way to get into town when Merle needed the truck for work, his dad insisted he was needed at home (though he never was, not for work anyway), and around 13 he just kind of… stopped going. No one ever came looking for him neither, but whatever. Merle would still bring him books that he stole from here or there, and even though he would always make a crack about Daryl being a geek or a useless layabout he always handed them over in the end, and always with a good natured smile. He was always kind of proud of Daryl, for not being like him or his old man, and Daryl was always thankful to him for it.

That was what he did, how he got by. Didn’t have no television, just a shitty AM/FM radio that got poor reception, and whatever tapes people would leave at the house. When he started driving into nearby towns he started collecting CD’s, but they didn’t have much for way of entertainment besides drugs and booze. So Daryl read.

He started off reading non-fiction, seeing no point in filling his head with useless crap and fantasy lands. But when Merle brought him back a well-loved and battered copy of _The Hobbit_ that he swiped from a friend’s house, he figured since he had nothing else to do he might as well give it a shot. He fought through it, the first half of it dragging on at an almost physically painful speed, but once he did he was hooked. He asked Merle two days later when he was finished to pick him up more like it.

He spent his childhood, his teenage years and a good deal of his adult life immersed in literature. He started with fantasy and science fiction, moving along into classic American novels. From there he went to English literature: the Romantics, Restorations and Victorians. Poetry and plays. Political discourse. By the time he was 19 he was biking his ass into town and living at the library, buried in the reference stacks and on a first name basis with the folks that worked at his better home.

So when Rick gave him that look that asked him if he really understood, or did he want him to explain later, it cut him like a knife. When Glenn earnestly asked him if he needed help reading instructions, like he’s fucking illiterate it set his heart racing. When Andrea looked at him pityingly as he grimaced at the camps pathetic collection of books, he wanted to scream. He wanted to say something, he wanted to shout it out the window at the whole damn camp.

But the new guy beat him to it.

“Hey, I think he’s got it.” Castiel was still a twitchy mess on Dale’s bed, but he was staring Rick down, “He says he knows it, no need to be patronizing.” And just like that, Daryl’s angry, nervous energy is gone. And before Rick could say anything in response, Castiel hammered on, “My friends and I had a camp outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. We were held up there for a long time, and it was a pretty good set up. We had food, water, medicine, even a doctor… it was almost a home. But there was a group that moved into a nearby factory, and they killed Sam.” He looked away suddenly, like the name had hurt him to speak it, “Sam and Dean Winchester, they were my friends. My best friends, and they were brothers, all each other had. So when Sam died, Dean went crazy.”

His demeanor changed by the second. He looked down at the hem of his dirty shirt, pulling at loose threads and curling in on himself. With his knees pulled up near his chest, he gulped in a deep breath and continued, “He wanted revenge, and so he organized the whole camp, but I didn’t see the point of it. They had more people than us, more weapons, _better_ weapons and they were all skilled soldiers. We were just a bunch of civilians, with a handful of military guys. The camp, the people in the camp, they didn’t know this but Dean? He realized it was a suicide mission. He just didn’t care. He was going to sacrifice all of those people for his own vendetta, and he was knowingly leading them to their deaths.”

He fisted his hands in the sheets, and rocked forwards against his knees, but he was still somewhere else, wandering through his memories, “I tried to tell them, I tried, I really did. But there was no convincing them.” He huffed a cynical laugh, “I wasn’t the most respected person there… really, I was a useless fuck up. And Dean, Dean was their fearless leader. He was strong, proud and righteous. A born commander, he saved their lives so often I couldn’t even begin to recount them all. They wouldn’t listen to me, and when Dean found out what I was doing, that I was trying to ‘subvert his authority,’” He let go of the sheets long enough to curl his fingers into air-quotes, and Daryl snorted despite himself, earning him a glare, “After he found that out, well it wasn’t good.”

“I ran.” He looked up, his eyes imploring them to listen and understand, and his guilt was so palpable it hovered in the spaces between them, “I stole Dean’s car and I drove east. I didn’t know where I was going, or what had happened to the rest of the country but it quickly became clear that nowhere was safe. I’ve been on the road for almost a month. The car broke down in Tennessee right outside of Georgia state lines, and no gas for miles. I walked the rest of the way here.”

“You walked from Tennessee to here?” Rick couldn’t hide his disbelief if he tried, “That’s like—”

“Twenty-two days.”

“That’s insane, where the hell were you going?”

Looking out the window, Castiel smiled sadly. He leaned back once more, his hands at the hem of his shirt, and Daryl wanted to do nothing more than to smack his hands away, the fidgeting putting him on edge, “I thought this was it, you know? End of days. I was dying, I had no food or water, and I was alone… there’s only so long a person can go without any human contact, before he becomes an animal again, right? So, I decided that I wanted to see the ocean again, one last time, before I died.” Sitting up, he looked out the window properly, leaning so he could scan the area just outside the trailer, “I guess I didn’t quite make it, did I?”

“No, I’m sorry. You still got a ways to go if you want to see the ocean.” Rick sat on the foot of the bed, and it was like Castiel didn’t even notice. He just stared outside, the sun hitting his face in full, illuminating every speck of dirt and gore.

“Well, I guess I could still go. I don’t want to burden you or your group, but I am thankful.” He had turned his head as he said this, and he wasn’t looking at Rick. He was looking at Daryl, “Thank you, really. For saving me, for taking me in when you had no idea who I was. I could have been dangerous, but you still helped me… Thank you, um—”

“Daryl.” Rick answered for him, looking between the two of them and feeling too in the middle for his liking. Standing up, he assumed his place at Daryl’s side, “And I’m Rick.”

“Daryl and Rick. You have my sincerest gratitude.”

“Don’t mention it.” Rick again, “Look, if you want to keep going you can, and if you don’t want to leave, we won’t kick you out. We have the space, we have the food, and if you managed to make it across the state on foot, we could probably use your skills. But we do have some ground rules.”

“Shoot.”

“First, we have to have eyes on you at all times. Not forever, but just until we get to know the kind of person you are. Second, no violence within the camp or against any member of the camp, no exceptions. We can’t very well fight the dead if we’re fighting ourselves too. And lastly, you will pull your weight. There are lots of jobs to be done, and we will get you started on some simple ones. And then, once we know you better, we can move you to some that fit your skills. Does that all sound good to you?”

The two men jumped with a start as Castiel laughed loudly, throwing his head backwards with a grin that split his face ear to ear, “Oh thank God.” He ran his hands down his face, hesitating over his lips and trying to reign in his amusement, “I thought you were going to fix me up and send me on my way. You two are the first humans I have met since I left South Dakota, please, I can’t bear to leave, not when I’ve just found people. I would love to stay, and I will help in every way that I can to repay you, thank you!”

Rick, not accustomed to the praise, shuffled on the spot, “Well I’m glad you’re so agreeable to our rules. Now we won’t be able to keep you in here, but we do have an extra tent and a sleeping bag you can use. When you’re feeling better, we can get you up to the highway, loot some cars and see if we can’t get you a pillow to go with it.” He coughed once into his hand, and looked at Daryl, “Well, I think that’s enough for tonight, it’s getting late. I’ll let the two of you set everything up, we’ll save the introductions for tomorrow.”

He turned to leave the RV and made it as far as the door before holding up a finger, and turning around, “Oh! One more thing. You can have your knives back, but Daryl is gonna hold onto your gun.”

“What?” Castiel did not like that at all. A knife was fine in close combat, but you could only move so fast. What if he got cornered? What if Croats got into the camp? “Really? I can’t have my gun?”

“A knife will do in the camp.”

“But what if it’s not enough?”

“Castiel, we don’t know you. We’re sharing our food, our space with you. If you want to stay, you give up the gun.”

“Just call me Cas, please. And I can’t let you take it, it was Dean’s!”

Rick was not a man without compassion. He could clearly see how much this Dean had meant to Castiel, what with him having his gun, and his car… hell, he was willing to bet the clothes on his back had been Dean’s at one point. But he couldn’t just let a stranger wander the camp with a loaded gun. He had people to think about, a wife and son he only just got back, and Shane would flip his lid if he saw Castiel walking around with that colt on his hip, so he held firm, “Cas then. And it’s not up for debate. Once we trust you, you’ll get it back. Until then, we hold on to it. Either deal with it, or you can move on.”

“I’ll have it on me the whole time.” Daryl piped in for the first time in a long while, effectively cutting off any retort that Cas might have had, “And I’ll be around you the whole time. If you need it, you’ll know where it is. And I’ll take care of it.”

It was strange. Cas was a complete stranger like Rick had said, so why was he being nice to him? He wasn’t nice to anyone, not even the people in this camp he had been living with for months, or his own flesh and blood brother, not really. So why was he being kind to Cas, when all he had done was almost die in the woods and force him to carry his sorry ass through the bush?

All it took was just a moment of really looking at him to answer that question. Rick might have been attributing it to sunstroke, as would the rest of the camp probably, but Daryl knew the signs withdrawal when he saw it and Cas was in the midst of it. He was quivering and tense, and every time his skin brushed up against the rough fabric of the blankets unintentionally he grimaced in pain. If his skin was as hypersensitive as Daryl remembered his own being, than those small rasps of wool must have felt like electric shocks. He was sweating, his nose was running, and he was swallowing compulsively to deal with the flood of saliva in his mouth. He looked pale. He looked like he was going to hurl. He looked like he was dying. And Daryl knew that feeling… fuck, that feeling and he were very well acquainted.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, breaking the other two out of their reverie. He looped Castiel’s colt into the back of his jeans, pulled his duffel onto one shoulder and offered the other hand to Cas, “Let’s go, don’t got much light left and I’m beat from carrying your fat ass up that hill.”

Cas snorted, sarcastically but with no bad blood, “Fat, that’s a good one. There was a time when there was some fat on my ass… but then the camp ran out of Little Debbie’s.” He took his hand and smiled, a gentle quirk of his lips, “It was a sad day. Chuck walked around completely despondent for hours. You’d have thought someone had died.”

With a small grin from Rick across the room, Cas pulled to his feet, immediately leaning on Daryl’s side. Rick looked them up and down, quirking his brow in askance to which Daryl shook his head. He didn’t need any help, Cas was mostly on his feet and despite his wise crack he weighed next to nothing. As they walked out of the RV, he reminded himself to get the man some dinner before he keeled over for good.

“I’ll set you up in my tent with your shit, so you don’t have to sit awake while I get the other one put together. We’ll just move my stuff out for now, and no you can’t have my pillow, so don’t even ask.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Castiel sighed as he sat in the entrance of the tent, busying himself with collecting Daryl’s meagre belongings, handing them out one by one, “Thank you for letting me sleep here. We can switch back in the morning if you like.”

“S’fine.” He lowered his head, silently accepting his things, ignoring the way Cas kept trying to catch his eye, “It’s too big for me anyways, I can’t sleep out in the open like that. The other ones smaller, so I’ll keep it.”

“If you’re certain.” Cas looked even more awful than before, hunched over and seeming too small in the opening of the tent, “Hey, Daryl? Thanks again. I mean it.”

“Stop it.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop that, too.” Daryl shifted awkwardly on his feet, bouncing from one to the other and with one arm gestured to a small clearing off to their left, “I’m gonna set up right over there, so no funny shit alright? I’m a light sleeper, I’ll know if you’re fucking around…” He trailed off, watching Castiel and sucking in a sharp breath before barreling forward, “Do you want something to eat? Drink? I know you probably don’t wanna right now, but it’ll just feel worse if you starve and dehydrate yourself.”

“I’m scared I’m going to puke if I eat anything,” Cas frowned, his brow pinching in between his eyes, “I could use some water though.”

Not one to hesitate, Daryl left and came back in record time with his water, and much to Castiel’s chagrin a small packet of crackers. Daryl threw them both in his lap and hunched down in front of him, “Eat.”

“Seriously?”

“Eat.”

“No.”

“I’m not leaving until you eat something.”

“Oh for the love of…” Castiel trailed off into a grumble, ripping open the package and shoving both crackers in his mouth at the same time, mushing them so they fit, crumbs falling to the ground and sticking to his lips. “Satisfied?” he groused over a mouthful of crackers, bits flying out of his mouth as he spoke. Daryl, for his part unaffected by Castiel’s lack of etiquette, waited until he had swallowed them both before giving him a curt nod, standing up in one fluid motion and retreating to his tent. If he heard Castiel shout goodnight, he didn’t give any indication. Cas downed the rest of the water bottle with a shrug, and ducked into the tent proper.

Finally alone, he tried to busy himself to take his mind off of his discomfort. He laid out his sleeping blanket, he changed his clothes, set up his battery powered lantern and pulled out a book but he was so tired. And so sore. This hot, aching fever pulsed beneath his brow and threatened to pop his eyes right out of his skull. He could feel his stomach already clenching, writhing around the intrusive food. The urge to vomit was overwhelming, and even the water didn’t help to cool him. He was sweating liberally, his new, dry shirt already soaked through and it wasn’t from the heat. Groaning he rolled over onto his side, clasping his arms around his knees and curling into the fetal position.

He felt like shit. He had done this before, only for a few days at most and normally only when Dean would confiscate his stash, or he when he couldn’t manage to distract their doctor long enough to swipe some pills. He knew nothing that helped it, nothing that worked anyways, and while he was grateful for the tent and the safety this new camp afforded him, he couldn’t help but wish in this moment that he had been left out in the woods to suffer alone.

Daryl mentioned that he would have to hide his addiction, and he wondered if that was because of Rick. The man was obviously a cop, and Castiel had learned quickly what it meant to be a junky; people just didn’t trust you. As a rule, you were probably going to steal their money to get drugs, or steal their shit to hawk to get drugs, or just steal their drugs. Either way, you were going to steal. And although Cas hadn’t touched the stuff until after the world ended, people still held tightly to that stereotype… with good reason.

He never thought he would be a thief when he first started using. He never thought he would get a habit either, it was just the only thing that helped him sleep at night. When he fell, even though Dean thought it his most grievous loss, the dissipation of his powers wasn’t the worst of his injuries. It wasn’t his wings dying, burning away and falling in heaps into the aether, until nothing was left but cavernous scars across his shoulder blades, nor was it his loss of the presence of the host. He had lost that long before anyways, when he chose free will and the Winchesters over his own father. He didn’t mourn the loss of his holy connection, the hive mind of brothers and sisters, and found he actually relished in the silence, as he was able to become his own being at last. No, what he missed the most, the greatest cost for his insurrection, was his immortality.

As an angel, had seen great things: witnessed the first creature to crawl from the primordial muck, the rise and fall of the dinosaurs, Homo sapiens winning the evolutionary lottery, building homes and civilizations, wondering how did they get here? What happens when they die?

He watched humanity, felt for humanity, and though he could no longer see all of time and space in an instant, he felt it was not so great a loss to just _be_ human. For he could remember all their follies, and all of their greatest accomplishments, and he reveled in now being a part of that great history. He remembered when he saw Hannibal Barca, with only his wits, humiliate the greatest empire of his time over and over again, and as he watched he had swelled with pride. When he witnessed Charlemagne command the massacre of 4,500 Saxons for their denouncement of Christianity, he wept and pounded his breast at his ignorance. Humanities first flight, the development of vaccines, the fall of the Berlin Wall, their accomplishments and victories he carried in his heart, uplifted  by the knowledge of their strength. The burning of the Library of Alexandria, the creation of the atomic bomb, the spread of genocide and hated, and the worst of their race sat firmly in his mind, showing him their weakness and how to learn from their mistakes. The loss of his angelic lineage was nothing in the face of all this. So now he was human, with all of the strength and weaknesses, and all of the greatness that came along with it. So what? He could achieve more, _be_ more as a part of humanity than he ever could aspire to as a servant of God.

That pesky expiration date though, that was a different matter.

During his waking hours, his humanity hung over his head like the sword of Damocles, and he could feel the thread thinning with every heartbeat, every rush of blood through his veins. But he found ways to ignore it, so long as he was awake. He could immerse himself in written words and stories, fantasy worlds of lived experiences unlike his own, real or fiction, inspired or droll. He could work himself to exhaustion, he could talk for hours with others, and he could drink and fuck and eat. But every night, when he lay there in bed, with no distractions available and his mind reeling with thoughts unrepressed… he was afraid. He was afraid of sleep, and he came to realize that there was no concept of mortality, no comprehension of death greater than sleep. “Death was a friend, and sleep was Death's brother,” he realized before he even knew who Steinbeck was, but when he read that passage one night, alone in his cabin, he sobbed with understanding. Sleep was like dying, every night, and dying was his greatest fear.

So he took pills. Their doctor Risa had given him barbiturates, but they just made him even more irritable in the morning, when he woke up with a start and no recollection of having fallen asleep at all. She gave him Ambien, Klonopin, Valium… those just made him sick and loopy. Empty, he called it once, they made him empty. He also couldn’t fight or defend himself on them. Finally, she gave him Oxycodone, telling him it would just be every once in a while, until they could figure out a better solution.

It was revolutionary. It didn’t put him to sleep, and it didn’t take away his fears, but it moved them out of reach. It was like a thin glass wall at a zoo, separating you from a vicious predator that would kill you in an instant if it had the chance. Such a small, inconsequential thing that you recognize isn’t much of a barrier at all, and that if the animal really wanted you dead it would fight through it. But it’s too much of an inconvenience for the beast, and it’s a soothing reminder of your distance that you are able to suspend your disbelief and relax in your false security. And to Cas, that was what he needed to finally, for the first time in his human existence, sleep soundly.

It started off as a pill every three days. Risa wouldn’t give him more, saying it was “highly addictive” and “habit-forming.” He stuck to her schedule for a while, and he really tried too. But those days in between were agony, now that he knew he had a way to sleep, and instead was forced to stay awake until the light of day broke through the trees and he finally passed out from exhaustion. He knew the pills worked, he knew what restful sleep was now, and to be given succour and have it taken away? It was infuriating, it wasn’t fair. It was torturous.

So he started stealing them. He would tell Risa that someone in the main building was looking her, that there were people coming back from a run and they might have injured, or that Dean needed her opinion on a strange rash he had developed. When she started catching on, she stopped giving them to him altogether, and he was forced to think bigger. He realized he could pay other people in the camp to steal them for him. He paid them with snacks and goodies he picked up on runs, in bullets and weapons, in favours and chores. He started to steal from some to pay others. He even paid them with sex when he was desperate, or when it was Tyler he was dealing with; he wouldn’t take any other form of payment but a quick fuck or blow job, but he was the most reliable. He got him the good shit and didn’t give him flack for it either, as long as Castiel paid up when he was supposed to.

Every night turned into twice a day. And it wasn’t until the camp was raided, their medical stores ransacked that he had to go without, and he went through withdrawal for the first time.

He thought he had the flu at first. His nose ran and he was hot and cold at the same time, with a fever and chills. He was sore, a deep ache that started in his bones and rose to the surface of his skin every time his clothes shifted, or he moved even the slightest. And he did move, all the time, his limbs moving of their own accord, twitching and shuddering like he had just run a marathon. When he went to the doctor, she took one look at him, gave him a pitying stare, and told him they should have some morphine available by the time Dean got back from his run in three days.

Risa helped him through it, but he was miserable. He felt like he would never be well again, that he would be sick forever and nothing would ever be good in his life again. One night, when she left him momentarily to attend to another patient, he had laid face down on the rotting wood floor of his cabin and seriously considered ending his life. He honestly believed that he had broken himself, he was going to feel like this until he died, and the only option left for him was to take his angel blade and make it stop. But his fear, his inconceivable fear of dying that the drugs had made him forget about reared its ugly head, and wouldn’t let him. By the time Risa came back, he was lying on his bed with his face against the wall, and no one ever learned of his momentary weakness.

Now, lying similarly in this tent in a strange camp, surrounded by strange people, he felt that weakness again. How easy it would be just to stop it, and he still didn’t know if it ever went away on its own. Risa had told him eventually it stops, the sickness leaves and you start to feel human again but god, the last time it had lasted five days! Five days, with no reprieve until Dean had returned with a pack of ancient morphine syrettes. Just constant pain and agony. He didn’t know if he could even do five days again, much less stick it out for however long it takes to go away for good…

His stomach lurched uncomfortably, and muttering a quiet “shit” under his breath he ripped the flap of his tent open and ran towards the nearest grove of trees. He retched loudly, barely digested cracker suspended in a slurry of water jettisoning from his slackened mouth and landing with a sickening splat onto the roots of an old oak. He fell heavily to his knees, flinching with the shock of it as the impact shuddered up his bones. That’s going to bruise, he thought ruefully, before he was interrupted by another lurch of his diaphragm, more cracker and water, then just water, and now bile, sliding slick and fiery up his abused throat. He dry heaved, his face turning red and his stomach just not getting the memo that it was empty. He thought wryly, for a second, that he was going to knock himself out with the force of his gags when he felt familiar, rough hands grasp him by his shoulders, rolling his limp body onto its side, and thrusting a bottle of water against his mouth.

“Drink.” No room for backtalk, Daryl started slowly pouring the water into his mouth, and Castiel fought against every bodily urge in order to gulp in the cool water. It soothed his throat, but it wasn’t cold enough to cramp his stomach once more. He felt Daryl sit heavily on the ground beside him, thankfully no longer touching him (his skin was so sensitive, he couldn’t take it) but close enough that if he leaned back, he would hit him in the side.

Castiel took the bottle in his shaking hands, taking a few more small swigs and rolling onto his back, trying to catch his breath and ignore the pounding in his head. He looked over at Daryl and smiled pitiably, “Spasibo.”

“Spicy what?” Daryl threw him a strange, uncomprehending look.

He laughed lightly before he answered, and winced as the motion dug his back into the rocks and twigs beneath him, “Spasibo, it’s Russian for thank you. I figured since you won’t let me thank you in English, I should try it in a different language. See if it got different results.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me at all, I’m not doing nothin’.” His companion turned his head towards the camp, pretending to look for others, to see if anyone else heard Cas puke his guts out but there was no one to see. It was the middle of the night, and all of the fires were out. Daryl was just trying not to look at him, even as he continued talking to him, which Castiel found deeply curious, “You also shouldn’t be laying on your back, or else you’ll choke on your own barf.”

“I’m still conscious, and I would hope I have the presence of mind to roll if I have to puke,” he was very amusing, this Daryl. And fun to tease, much like Dean did with Sam once upon a time, “No Russian then, maybe we’ll try Latvian next time. Or Spanish.”

“Or just none, at all.”

“Afrikaans? Korean?”

“Stop! Jesus you’re annoying, don’t make me regret coming out to help you. I could have just left you out here on your own, hell I still could if you don’t stop talking.”

He spoke a big game, all threatening bluster, but Daryl wasn’t moving and Castiel smiled brightly at him in response. He couldn’t help it, he liked him already, and he reminded him of Dean in a way, or of how Dean used to be before the world fell apart. A gruff, hard done by exterior, hyper masculine persona… but sort of a sweetheart underneath, a kind hearted person who couldn’t just watch another suffer. He put on airs like he didn’t give a shit in the same way Dean did, but he was still here in the middle of the night, helping him to his feet and walking him back to his tent, even though he didn’t have to.

“Well I won’t thank you anymore for tonight, in any language, I promise.” Cas said as they both ducked under the tent flap, letting Daryl lay him down on his sleeping bag, and he groaned at the feeling of the hard ground on his back. His legs were beating his feet against the edge of the sleeping bag, filling the tent with a rhythmic _swish-swish-swish_ , “Though, I can’t promise I won’t be out there again tonight. God, I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this, it’s so stupid. It’s not like I didn’t get here through any fault of my own—”

“Wait, you ever done this before?” Daryl had paused in leaving the tent, half crouched and poised to take off before he could finish his sentence, but now his attention had shifted and was centered solely on Castiel, “Like, all the way through? Kicked it completely?” Cas shook his head, and Daryl let out a long suffering sigh, “Okay, okay I get it. Look,” He sat down inside the tent with his legs crossed, his hands resting lightly on his knees, “it gets easier, you just have to make it through the first couple of days. Usually around the end of the fifth day the sickness starts to go away, but it can be up to a week sometimes or even less. Point is, it don’t stay this bad forever. You just gotta wait… now, how long has it been since you ran out?”

“Three days now, tomorrow will make it four.”

“Okay, so you’re in the thick of it now, but it won’t be that much longer, just a few days and then you’re home free. You just gotta make sure you don’t go back, and man I swear to god if you steal meds from us? From anyone in this camp? You’re so done, there’s no fucking saving you, got it?”

He raised his hand to his forehead in a paltry salute, before struggling to sit up straight. He was already being chastised, he didn’t need to be physically lying down for it as well, “Whatever you say, boss.” Sighing, he managed to sit up, his posture mirroring Daryl’s, “How do you know so much about this? And why are you being so nice about it? I don’t mean to offend, but my habit hasn’t really elicited the best response from strangers.”

“Man, my brother’s been a junkie since I was six, my dad since before I was born. They’re lifers, keep on quittin’ and comin’ back. You ain’t been using long, I can tell cause you haven’t started shooting yet, so what you’re going through ain’t nowhere near as bad as what they did.” He wasn’t belittling, just stating a fact, “And I went through it too. Not with smack, but other shit, and the end results pretty much the same. So I don’t know, I guess I just get it. Wisdom is the reward for surviving our own stupidity, and all that.”

“Brian Rathbone. I didn’t think you would be a trash fantasy reader.” Castiel didn’t know if Daryl even realized what he said was a quote, but the flush that crept along his cheeks definitely pointed to yes, “Hey, I read it to, I’m not judging.”

“I read a lot of throw away fantasy when I was younger, I guess that just stuck out in my head.” Daryl wasn’t looking at Cas anymore, instead he stared intently at a tree right outside the flap of the tent, lips pursed and particularly uncomfortable, “It seemed to fit.”

Castiel decided to let it slide. He didn’t want spook him, he was enjoying talking to Daryl. It was the first conversation he’d had with another person in a month, and the first one he’d had about anything other than fighting and bloodshed for longer than he cared to remember. “What else do you read?” He asked imploringly, looking down and fidgeting the soles of his boots. Maybe if he gave Daryl some space and didn’t stare at him like he was on display in a museum, he might feel comfortable enough to stay and talk some more. He might not want to run away, and then Cas wouldn’t have to be alone, wondering if he was afraid of dying for nothing.

The question hung in the air for a long couple of minutes, and Cas was beginning to wonder if Daryl had even heard him when finally he answered, “I’ve been reading Moby Dick.”

“Ah, call me Ishmael.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes, many times. I think three, or four? The first time wasn’t too long ago, but every time I read it I find something new, a different meaning that I didn’t notice before.”

“Yeah, it’s meant to be read like that I think. Forster, I read somewhere he said that it’s full of meanings: its own meaning is a different problem.”

“Oh, Forster! I have, I have a book here, and I just finished with it.” Cas stretched out across the tent haphazardly, flying into motion so suddenly that Daryl jumped a little in surprise. “Vybachte.” Castiel said sheepishly, pulling his copy of _A Passage to India_ out of his bag and handing it out to him, “But here, it’s pretty good.”

Daryl takes the book from his hand after another long pause, “Vi... batch-ty? What language is that?”

“Ukrainian, it means ‘I’m sorry’. You don’t like apologies either, do you?”

“Not so much, especially not when they’re just thrown about. It makes them worthless. ”

“Fair enough.” He’s curious, Cas thought to himself. Quiet when he needs to be, and kind of defensive when he’s not. But he’s intelligent, and quick witted, and he seems to have no penchant for bullshit, which is nice. Castiel doesn’t seem to have much patience for it either these days.

A silence falls between them, but not an uncomfortable one. With the dim lantern lighting the tent, Daryl begins flipping through the book in his hands, and Cas forgets for a few moments his discomfort. It’s an easy, reassuring stillness, both of them inhabiting the same space and breathing the same air, no need for words without meaning.

Surprisingly, it’s Daryl who breaks the silence, “How many languages _do_ you speak, anyways?”

Cas doesn’t look up from his hands, loosely curled in his lap, but he grins all the same, “If I say _all_ , would you take that as an acceptable answer?”

He hears Daryl snort disbelievingly, not that he expected any different, “No, that’s not an acceptable answer! Bullshit, ain’t no way you can speak every language, that’s impossible.”

“You’d be surprised how little in this world is actually impossible.”

“Y’know, waxing philosophical ain’t no answer, neither.”

Cas heard the smile in his voice before he saw it, and when he looked up he wasn’t disappointed. Daryl had two facial expressions all night: pissed, and only-slightly-pissed. But now, laying sideways on the uneven floor of the tent, stretched out long like a cat with his legs hanging out the door and leaning up on one elbow, he had this cocky, sanguine grin on his face that was aimed squarely at Castiel.

Cas couldn’t help but meet his gaze. He had been trying to avoid it, to make Daryl more comfortable but there was something impossible about it, the same way it had been when he woke up in that RV. Taking stock of the surroundings he had stumbled into it, and just like that, he was snapped up in an ice blue trap. It was all he could do not to back down, that stare had felt like a stand-off and he worried if he lost he might not make it through his next moments alive. His breath had caught in his throat and he stood his ground, but there was nothing frightening about it, not really. Just a warning to an animal caught in a trap: stay still, and you won’t get hurt.

And now, in this moment, he had fallen into it again. And that friendly, relaxed silence that they had garnered was no longer so comfortable. It was electric charged, simmering just below the surface of what they could see, and it shook the tent around them like the wind buffeting outside. Something howled in the woods, but they didn’t hear it. And the tent flap quaked and rustled but they paid it no mind. They were swirling in a vortex of their own making, and it troubled them into stillness, a heady and uncertain spell.

That Castiel broke when he upchucked into his hands.

“Oh, fucking gross man. Who taught you how to live?” Daryl reprimanded, moving quickly to Castiel’s side nonetheless, taking him by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet. He maneuvered them both outside the tent, sitting Cas down in the dirt and taking stock of what he saw.

It wasn’t really puke anymore, he observed with no small amount of disgust, just bile and water. The poor guy had nothing in his stomach to throw up… his body was just confused. It felt sick and it didn’t understand why, so it was trying to purge everything that could be the culprit. The puke, the sweat, the snot it was just his body trying to rid itself of junk-sickness but it wouldn’t work. It was in him on a microscopic level, and the only thing to be done was to wait it out until the junk-sick cells died off, replaced by ones that had never known the touch of smack. But it could still be a ways off, and Castiel looked like he was in no position to wait any longer. He was shuddering violently, his stomach visibly lurching even through his threadbare tee-shirt. His fingers tapped the ground without his volition as he wiped the watery bile off of his hands into the dirt. He was filthy, dust and grime and gore clinging in layers to the skin of his arms, his face and neck. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, piling on top of even more layers of sweat long dried and yellowed. His face was wreathed in a scruffy, greasy beard and his hair clung to his face and neck uncomfortably, hotly in the warm Georgia night.

He needed a bath, bad.

“Alright.” Daryl decided, and before Castiel could ask what he was agreeing to he was hefted unceremoniously onto his feet, his arm pulled once more around this still-a-strangers neck, “You need to get washed up, and so do your clothes. Are any of them clean?”

“What? You want me to bathe, now? It’s the middle of the night, no!” Castiel was flummoxed, who the hell did this guy think he was?

Daryl pushed forward on his feet and Cas had no choice but to follow, “Look, this ain’t no fucking picnic for me either, alright? But you’re disgusting, and you’re gonna keep feeling disgusting until you get cleaned up. Besides, the last thing you need is to _actually_ get sick from some walker blood. We can wash your stuff in the morning, but for right now we need to get that shit off of you. Now, do you have any clean clothes?”

“Yes,” Cas relented, after a long pause, “Yeah, I have my cold weather clothes, haven’t had to wear them yet. Sweater and jeans in my duffle.” He shuffled along, leaning heavily on Daryl as he was led past the rows of tents and down into the quarry. Daryl held a finger up to his lips as they walked, and Cas thought that it must be really late. There were no lights on in any of the tents, and the moon was hanging low in the west… it was probably very early in the morning.

On the water’s edge, they were faced with a dilemma, “Cas, you think you can stand on your own?”

“Probably not.” He answered honestly, “But if you’re bound and determined, I could sit… if you could just set me down a ways into the water, I could take it from there. You go get my clothes.”

Daryl gave him a mocking salute, mirroring his posture from earlier and Castiel grinned in response. They went about the rest in silence, no words between the two of them, just the gentle splash of little waves around their feet as Daryl navigated him into the water, sitting him down about five feet out from the banks. The water lapped gently and coolly at his skin through his jeans and his shirt, rising just about mid waist when he sat down, and he noted with a rush of relief that the water didn’t bite his skin. The sick makes water feel like knives, especially water this cool, but now it only felt like a gentle sting, something much more manageable. As Daryl hiked back up towards the camp. Cas tipped his head back and laughed at the moon. It _was_ going away, it _was_ passing!

He surged with delight, and even though he could feel his aching bones and muscles cry out in pain, he hurriedly went to work on his boots and socks, balling and chucking them one by one towards the bank. He shimmied out of his jeans, leaving on his boxers and they followed his socks. When he got to his shirt, he hesitated, a familiar sense of shame washing over him sooner than he could beat it down and get on with it. He ripped the shirt off before he could talk himself out of it and settled in the water, holding it up at squinting at it in the dim moonlight. It was one of Dean’s old tees, ratty and full of holes, a Guns and Roses one that hadn’t fit him quite right anymore. Just looking at it made him feel sick again, so he crumpled it up, and used it to start scrubbing twenty some odd days of dirt and grime off of his skin. Splashing his face with the cool water, feeling it wash away the sickening grease from his beard, the crusty whatever from his forehead… he had to admit that Daryl was right. He was already feeling better.

Daryl was looking at his feet on the ground as he walked back down the path towards the water, Castiel’s worn red sweater and faded blue jeans gripped firmly in one hand, a clean towel and a book in the other. He was kicking up pebbles on the beach when he finally looked up, and his breath stopped short.

Castiel was sitting in the water, rubbing his tee-shirt, now soaking wet, across his face, through his hair, and across his shoulders like a makeshift washcloth. He was waist high, his back turned and silent as he worked, aside from the occasional disbelieving chuckles that shook through his body and rippled the water wrapped around him. His skin was golden tanned, burnt a little red around his neck and arms, across his forehead from walking for days in the beating sun, but still clear and unblemished, barely a freckle… except for his shoulder blades.

What he saw there had Daryl stuck at a standstill. Atop his shoulder blades, symmetrical on both sides, were thick, deep scars. They looked like someone had taken a cleaver to his back and just started digging. Fat, raised cords of scar tissue furled around the outside, the shallowest of the scarring, forming a perimeter around yawning, vaguely triangular shaped maws. At the very center, there was a thin membrane of flesh, barely even skin, and when he shifted his arms Daryl could see the bone moving clearly through it. The skin around the ropey scar tissue was raised and pockmarked in places, looking like it had been burned as well as sliced. It was atrocious, and the amount of pain he must have been in while this was being done to him, or after when the shock wore off, and he was left with the agony of healing such immense wounds… Daryl couldn’t even fathom it. He wondered how it happened, and why it happened. Who had done it? Was it this Dean, when he found out Castiel was starting a mutiny? Was it someone else in his camp? Or had it happened before the dead stopped staying dead?

It didn’t matter, he decided. He wasn’t going to find out anyways, ain’t no way he would ask about them. Cas was a stranger, and those scars spoke of something deeply personal, something painful and buried, and Daryl was never one to pry. He wasn’t ever going to mention having seen them. He wouldn’t want Cas asking about his own after all, so he wasn’t going ask about his neither.

“Hey, I got your clothes here.” He called out in a stage whisper, his voice carrying across the water but not loud enough to be heard from the camp. Castiel turned with a start, his arms flying across his chest as he tried futilely to cover his shoulder blades with his hands, but Daryl kept his head to the ground, laying the clothes down as well as the towel. He made a show of it, keeping his head turned at an odd angle from his body, obvious even in the moonlight and at a distance that he didn’t see anything, “I’m just gonna be over there, come get me when you’re done and I’ll take you back up.”

Castiel relaxed as soon as he saw Daryl walk away, leaving his clothes on the bank. He let his arms fall, hands slapping the surface of the water as he let go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. The instant he heard Daryl’s voice across the water he felt that white hot shame sink its teeth into him and in a moment of blind panic he absolutely hated his lack of forethought. All he could think was how stupid he was for even taking the shirt off in the first place. Daryl had to have seen his back, and he would react the same way everyone else does: with questions that Cas didn’t have an answer to. That he couldn’t answer, because if he told them the truth, that they were where his wings had burned up in his fall, they would think he was bat-shit crazy.

But to his surprise, Daryl didn’t say anything. He averted his eyes, didn’t comment, and walked away. Cas sank back into the water, his exhilaration at the feeling of being clean washing away with the tee-shirt he had dropped, now soaked heavy and sinking to the bottom of the pond. He figured he had been in there long enough, his fingers starting to prune and a chill setting in as the night breeze ghosted against his water dappled skin, so he stood, wobbling a little but managing to remain upright. He stumbled towards the bank, and his heart warmed when he saw the towel Daryl had left for him with his things. He was thoughtful, that much was sure. And an enigma, if ever Cas saw one. Dressing quickly, he called Daryl over and started searching for his boots and socks.

“Hey, I got your shoes right here.”

They were thrust at his face as he sat, held together by the laces in one of Daryl’s calloused hands, and as he took them he observed the flashlight and paperback in the other. “You’re reading it already?” Castiel remarked, seeing the familiar cover of the book he had just lent to him, pulling his boots onto his bare feet. His socks were still in the wind, but it wasn’t such a loss. They were less socks, and more dirty, sweaty bundles of hardened fiber now anyways. He had a few to spare.

“Yeah, I thought you might take longer.” He looked him up and down, “How you feeling?”

“Better, really. Danke.” Castiel smiled, liking the way Daryl got his nose out of joint when he recognized that as a ‘thank you’. He didn’t say anything this time, to his benefit, “I think you were right, about it passing soon. The water didn’t feel like needles like it normally does when I go without, and I don’t feel as sick as before. Honestly, I think I could probably even sleep now.”

“Well that’s good, cause I’ve already wasted half the night babysitting, I weren’t about to waste the rest of it holding your hair while you barf.” Daryl griped, but it was decidedly good natured. Hauling Cas back onto his feet, they started their steady climb back up to the camp, “Just remember, if anyone else asks you’re just sick from the sun. No mentioning shit about drugs, okay? I already get enough heat from these people, thinkin’ I’m bad news, I don’t need them knowing I brought a junky into the camp alright?”

“I promise, really, it wouldn’t help me for them to know either. Relax, I won’t say anything.” Castiel kept his head down, looking at their feet stepping in tandem, feeling the sick seeping back into his bones, but farther away now. His stomach had settled, and he almost felt hungry for the first time in days. Almost. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than I have, I think I can take it from here.” He adds as they approach his tent, before gesturing to the book in Daryl’s hand, “If you’re going to actually read that, just ignore the notes in the margins. I find it helpful, when I’m reading something that takes time to digest, to write down my thoughts. It makes it easier for me, but to other people it would probably be like reading the ending first, you know? Reading my thoughts, before formulating their own? And I think I’d like that, to hear your thoughts, I mean. You’re probably the first person I’ve met since this all started who seems to like reading for the sake of learning, as well as an escape.”

He had been crawling through the flap of his tent as he spoke, but he turned now to look up at Daryl, to gauge his expression, to learn more about him. With the moon at his back, his eyes were dark and hooded, and Castiel could barely make out the features of his face. He saw the wry smile though, one that Daryl probably wasn’t even sure he was wearing, thinking himself protected by the shadow of night, “Anyways, I guess I’ve thanked you enough for one day, so I’ll save the rest until tomorrow. Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

As he crawled to his sleeping bag and rolled up in it, his muscles still ached and his limbs still twitched… but oddly enough he felt calm. He felt warm, and clean and safe for the first time since Dean hatched his ridiculous plan. He was in strange territory, but he felt like he could manage here, hell he even made a friend already. Daryl was rough around the edges, and from his own words he wasn’t the most popular around this camp, but that was comforting in its own way. He wasn’t the most popular either back at Chitaqua either, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person: he just didn’t fit. And in his experience as a human, as short and unconventional as it may be, it was the pieces that didn’t fit that were the most interesting when placed together.

And that night, for the first time in his life as a human, he fell asleep quickly and easily, no fear of a short brush with death keeping him awake, and no drugs keeping him apart. Just the soft wind rustling the leaves overhead, and a comforting glow emanating from the tent next to his, as its only occupant flipped through the pages of a well-worn book.


	3. Bellwood Quarry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced past non-con  
> Homophobic slurs  
> Internalized Homophobia
> 
> Thank you for your kind words and Kudos, they are my life's blood!

When Daryl woke the next morning, it was to a high rising sun and only three hours of sleep. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the roof of his tent, willing the daylight away even as it shone at him through the mesh ceiling. It was warm in Georgia in the summer, the tarp rendered unnecessary and restricting his air flow, so he opted to leave it off. But that was last night when it was dark and cool, and he was regretting that decision now that the sun beat down on him, getting in his eyes and burning at his skin.

He blamed Castiel, and E.M. Forster. He wasn’t up too late with him, by the time he got into his own tent and settled down for the night the moon was still up and the sun had yet to even peek above the horizon. He had everything set, the tent to rights and had sprawled on top of his sleeping bag but he couldn’t stop his mind from roiling. His thoughts had been keeping him up at night for weeks now, since Merle got left behind, since he started sleeping in that big empty tent alone. Since he stopped having someone to talk to.

His body craved sleep, but his brain wouldn’t let up. And he usually just lay there, simmering through his memories until he passed out or it was time to start another day. But last night Cas had given him a book, a new book that looked like a decently smart read, not just a throwaway paperback like the camp was normally stocked with and Daryl was drawn to it immediately. He had read Moby Dick four times, just like Castiel, and he could put it aside for a little while to read something new, especially if there was the promise of discussing it later.

Daryl had never had someone to talk to about the books he read. His brother didn’t read anything but magazines and scripture, and his daddy didn’t read at all. He talked to the custodian at the library sometimes, and he was interesting enough but they never discussed anything particularly insightful, just traded recommendations then talked about cars. There was no one at the camp to talk with, not really. Although he knew they would if he approached them, and they were amicable enough, he found he couldn’t push his luck there; they were as apt to go off on him for something menial as they were for something big, just cause of the way he and his brother were. But this new guy, he seemed like an avid reader, and he had one of the most interesting collections of books he had seen since the world ended. So he found he couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit excited at the idea of being able to talk about the shit he reads with someone else, someone who writes notes in the margins of their books like Mark Twain.

By the dim light of his lantern, with the glasses no one in this camp was ever gonna catch him wearing laying low on the bridge of his nose, he cracked open the cover and started reading, intent on only getting the first few chapters in before trying to sleep. He ended up finishing the whole damn thing, all 148 pages of it. He even managed to skim back through some of Castiel’s notes, and as an afterthought, he pulled a pencil out of his bag and laid out some of his own. By the time he turned out his lamp, he realized it wasn’t even necessary: the sun was rising, and the pale morning light was spilling into his tent already.

Grumbling under his breath, Daryl sat up and started to tug his shirt and shoes on. He was still exhausted, but Rick would want him to be up with Castiel, and it wouldn’t do to sleep the morning away. He had to go check on his snares, and with a shadow he knew it would take twice as long.

He approached Castiel’s tent, realizing with some relief that the rest of the camp seemed to just be waking up, meaning he hadn’t slept in too late, when he noticed the flap was already pinned open. Curious, he didn’t even hesitate to crouch down and stick his head in. 

“Well good morning to you too.” Castiel remarked dryly, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and a bemused look on his face, “Do you make a habit of just walking into places without being invited?”

He shaved, Daryl noted as he sat down at the mouth of the tent. The scruffy beard was gone and had been replaced by the barest hint of stubble. He had obviously used his electric razor that the whole camp was going to end up coveting. It wasn’t a clean shave but it got the job done. He could see his face now, all sharp angles and high cheeks, full lips and cleft chin. All cleaned up and in the light of day, he looked like the kind of guy you would find on the cover of one of those gossip magazines Andrea kept moaning about, not starving out in the woods kicking a heroin addiction.

“Oh, okay we’re not talking today. That’s fine, I can work with that.” Cas quipped as nudged Daryl’s leg with his foot, moving him out of the way so he could lean out the tent and spit out his toothpaste. Throwing his toothbrush back into the tent, he stood outside and stretched, feeling his muscles and joints creak and pop under the strain of it. “I never thought that sleeping in a tent could be preferable to sleeping in a car, but I don’t think I’ve slept that well in weeks.”

“How are you feeling?” Daryl asked without looking up. He appeared to be feeling better, he wasn’t shaking as violently and he hadn’t thrown up yet. Plus, he also managed to sleep, which was saying something.

“Much better, I don’t know what you did but you are a miracle worker. I still feel like I have an awful cold, but there’s no nausea or stomach cramps, and I can stand on my own without toppling over.” Castiel smiled down at him, noticing he was looking away from him, down towards the rest of the camp, “I think getting cleaned up and actually drinking something helped a lot. And guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m starving,” He said with a laugh, “I haven’t been hungry for days, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something I didn’t immediately puke up after. It’s amazing, I thought I would never eat again for a while there.”

“Well, we can get you some food then, might as well introduce you to the rest of the camp while we’re at it.” Daryl stood and dusted off his pants, turning towards the cluster of tents a few feet away from their own, before stopping with a start and handing Castiel back his book, “I also finished with this.”

Castiel took the proffered book with no small amount of surprise, “Really? You can’t have finished it already, did you not like it? I'll admit it is kind of a slog to read, I have others that are less wordy if you want to borrow a different one—”

“No, I just couldn’t sleep last night so I read the whole thing. What, that surprise you?” Daryl snapped as he rolled his shoulders, aggravation pulling at their muscles, and with a glare he stepped into Castiel’s space, tall and rocking back and forth between his feet. Fuck, it figured. Of course he was just patronizing him, what else was new. “Stupid backwoods hick like me can’t make it through a book without pictures? Huh?” He spat and kicked the dirt but not out of anger towards Cas. No, he was pissed at himself for even getting his hopes up in the first place, like they were gonna have some pansy book club or something. Like someone would actually think he could read, much less reflect on what he was reading. That Cas would want to hear what he had to say… what was wrong with him? If Merle were still around he would laugh in his face and call him a dumb-ass.

“What? No I… what’s a hick?” Tilting his head to the side, Castiel furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. He had clearly offended Daryl somehow, and wasn’t that just his luck. He had no idea what he had said that set him off like this, but that was nothing new. Castiel never really got the hang of not putting his foot in his mouth, he just got better at deflecting people with sarcasm so they never took what he said to heart. Not Daryl though, somehow commenting on how fast he had… oh.  “Daryl, I wasn’t implying that you didn’t read it because you didn’t understand it. Or that you couldn’t read it in one night, or that you didn't read it at all, I just—I mean, I couldn’t even finish it as fast as you did, I was just surprised that’s all.” He held up his hands, palm out in a gesture he had seen convey surrender, in hopes that he would recognize it and back down. He didn’t want to start a fight on his first day in this new camp, and he sure as hell didn’t want to alienate the one person he seemed to immediately form a bond with.

“Are you—what’s a hick, really?” Daryl scrutinized Castiel’s face, taking in his worried eyes and pursed lips, and the abject confusion that seemed to radiate off of him, flowing through his slouched posture and upheld hands. He had been expecting him to back pedal, everyone always does when he calls them out on their biased assumptions, but Cas had withdrawn so fast that his next words might very well be “good morning” again. He looks frustrated, Daryl thought, like he’s used to people flying off the handle at him. Maybe he really didn’t mean it the way Daryl took it, which also irritated the crap out of him. Now, not only was he being emotional like a little girl, he was being an asshole for no reason.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what that means. I’m sorry if I offended you.” Castiel grimaced, “Clearly, I offended you. You know, I wish I could say it wouldn’t happen again, but it will. I’m terrible at this, at talking to people, I always say the wrong thing or it just sounds different out loud than in my head. But I would never insult you on purpose, I mean I just met you and I’m not that kind of person.” He looked down at the book in his hands, turning it over and flipping through it absently, finding it easier to focus on diffusing the conversation while fidgeting with the pages. He ran his fingers along the margins, when he noticed some new additions. They were in pencil, a clear contrast to the red pen he had been using to make his own notes, and instead of his flowy calligraphy, they were printed in tight lines of letters, all uppercase but small and compacted. It looked like someone had written them on a typewriter, “You added your own notes, to the margins.”

“It doesn’t matter what a hick is, really.”

“You wrote notes in the margins.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No! No, the opposite actually. I’ve never had someone do this before, you—you answered me, some of these are rebuttals, and this! I never thought of this! ‘Negation is an inevitable result when all things come together as one,’ is that what caused Mrs. Moore's dissociation then, an existential crisis at the idea of British/Indian unity? Is that what makes the echo important? I always assumed it was the realization and shame of her own British literalism, but I guess that is the same thing, isn’t it?” Castiel had completely forgotten about Daryl’s outburst, instead completely enamored by the fact that this gruff man had not only flown through this ridiculously verbose book, but he had taken the time to reply to Castiel’s thoughts and ideas on it. He had argued some of them, agreed and added to others, and even brought up insights of his own that Cas was kicking himself for not noticing before, “Daryl, this… this is amazing.”

“It’s nothing, just scribbles in a book man. Nothing to get excited about.” God, Daryl was uncomfortable. First his angry outburst, and now this? Castiel was looking at him with wide eyes and an expression on his face that he couldn’t, wouldn’t look too deep into. He was already thrumming with nerves when he came over to the tent in the first place, unsure of how Cas would react to him writing in his book. Worried that he would think he was weird. Terrified that he would judge him poorly, think he was being bizarre or needy.

He had nothing to worry about it seemed. Castiel was an odd one, very eccentric and Daryl wasn’t used to that. He spoke his mind, was far too literal and seemed to have a permanent place in his mouth for his foot, but he was bashful too and whenever he seemed to be put out or thrown off he immediately looked away, fiddling with something or another, driving Daryl crazy with his nervous energy. But then when he felt comfortable he was a sarcastic, sassy little fucker and he seemed to radiate cynical glee with every tilt of his head and quirk of his lips. And last night, as they sat in his tent not speaking, there was a sense of undivided calmness about him, something sweet and kind as he just relaxed into the silence as if they weren’t strangers to each other. He was a beacon of whatever it was he was experiencing, like a child who felt things too strongly, who hadn’t yet been taught by the world that those feelings make others nervous, and he needs to reign them in. It was captivating.

“It’s not nothing.” Castiel spoke softly, breaking him away from his thoughts, “It’s really nice. Do you want to know why I read?”

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me one way or the other.”

“I don’t get people.” He couldn’t help but smirk at Daryl’s look of sarcastic incredulity, ‘no shit’ written clearly across his face, “I’ve never understood people. And it’s not just other people either, I don’t even understand myself. Why I do things, or feel things, I look back and I just can’t seem to figure out, why did I do that? I’m not a good judge of character, and I know that. But I want to be. So I read.”

Looking down at the book in his hands once more, he ran the tips of his fingers lovingly across its creased spine, “Take this book for instance. This book taught me that a desire for friendship is not enough, and you cannot truly love another person unless you are made equal. A master cannot love his slave, and a slave cannot love his master, no matter how badly they might want to. It also taught me, as you pointed out in your note, that equalization demands the breakdown of both sides, or the unbalance of power will forever persist. That to truly come together as equals, individuals and nations must cast aside the things that made them whole, and find new identities in the collection of their beings. True equality takes complete sacrifice, not just from those oppressed, but from those in power as well.”

Sitting down on the ground just outside of his tent, Castiel reached in and pulled out his duffle bag, rummaging through it as he spoke, “Each book is a lesson, and each lesson teaches me something about myself and others, about how to view the world. And it helps me understand people, and feelings and social customs that are just so foreign to me. Without books, these compendiums of people’s lives and experiences, the teachings of men and women who went through all of this before me, and sought to help me by leaving these records in their wake… I wouldn’t be the person that I am. And I’m still learning, you know? I’m not perfect, there’s always more to study.” He fished a book out, and held it up to Daryl, gripping it gingerly and letting it hang there in the space between them, “And by writing me these notes, you’re helping me learn more. You are showing me insights and giving me information I couldn’t see before… you’re helping me grow. That’s why it’s not nothing. To paraphrase Foucault, there can be no knowledge without discourse, right?”

He could feel Daryl’s stare, as heavy as the book in his hand as it hovered in the air. He said too much, he thought in a small, panicked voice. He did it again, he said too much.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

He felt the book lift from his grasp, and he smiled.

“So, you want me to read this next?” Daryl was grateful for the distraction, holding the book at arm’s length so he could manage to read the cover without his glasses, “ _Trilby_?”

“Yes, if you’d like.” Castiel looked up at him now, and he was floored by how young he looked, so suddenly. There was a hot, red flush across his cheeks and nose, and he held the newly proffered book in front of him like a shield, “Obviously, you don’t have to. But I’ve been on the road a long time, and I feel like I’ve been alone for much longer. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, and this can give us something to talk about, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure man, whatever.” Daryl tucked the book in the back of his jeans, still not looking at him. He couldn’t look him in the eyes again, he didn’t think he could handle seeing the unabashed enthusiasm he heard clearly in Castiel’s voice. He thrust his hand out without thinking, palm up towards the man on the ground, “But we gotta go, okay? I have shit to do in the woods today, and we’re wasting daylight.”

Cas took his offered hand and allowed himself to be lifted to his feet, something that was quickly becoming familiar. He felt sweat trickle down his brow and his hands shook, a gentle reminder of his persisting sickness but he ignored it because he could now, and that was enough to calm his frayed nerves. Though the thought of meeting a new group of people was still absolutely petrifying, he took to his feet and murmured a heartfelt “grazie.”

A sharp smack to the back of his head had him nearly doubling over with laughter as he watched Daryl stomp off towards the camp, throwing a middle finger over his shoulder before he ran to catch up.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Rick, the only familiar face approached them both as they waded out of the trees, “I was just coming to get you. Cas, how did you manage last night? You look much better, and I see you already found the water.”

“Yes, thank you I’m feeling much better. Almost human again, though I’m still pretty shaky.”

“Well that’s to be expected after twenty days of walking on the highway.” Rick prodded good-naturedly, “Come on, we’ll get you some breakfast and introduce you to the rest of the camp. Daryl, you’re taking Cas with you into the woods today, right?” He posed it as a question, but it really wasn’t. Daryl just nodded soundlessly in response, breaking away from the two of them and walking towards the food.

As Castiel approached the fire, he saw that the group he had stumbled into was very diverse. Young, old, men, women… a larger group, but still nowhere near the size they had at Chitaqua, at least in the beginning. A young woman with blonde hair and crystal blue eyes looked up and smiled as they approached, “You’re awake! How are you feeling? You were in rough shape yesterday.”

“B-better, thank you.” Castiel winced as he stumbled over his words, the eyes of everyone at the camp on him in an instant, and he suddenly wished he had done this individually later on. He felt his face heat up, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground, let it swallow him whole.

“My name’s Andrea, and this is my sister Amy.” Another blonde woman gave him a friendly wave and smile, “This is T-Dog and this is Dale, they helped get you up to the camper last night.” Another wave, less friendly and a nod, untrusting but not unkind.

He was introduced to Jacqui, and Jim. Ed, Sophia and a kind woman named Carol with these haunting, sad eyes. Shane was next, and he gripped his hand so hard he felt the bones grind together as they shook, so that there was no way Castiel could mistake it for anything other than a warning to behave himself. Then Carl and Lori, Rick’s son and wife, who he introduced Cas to himself, proudly beaming when his son shook his hand politely and without prompting. The Morales’ and the other scattered families merely waved as he was walked into the circle by the fire, Rick telling them his name.

“So, Castiel, where did you come from?”

Lori had been the one to ask the question, and there was no animosity as she regarded him with interest. The problem was, everyone else around the fire was watching him the same way, and Cas felt his heart hammer in his throat as he struggled to respond, his mouth gaping around half formed words.

He was never good being the center of attention, something that carried over from his first life as an angel. He was a foot soldier, a pawn. He was only spoken to directly when he was being given orders, and even then the only one looking at him was Anael. And when he was grouped together with his brothers and sisters in the garrison, he never really spoke. She had called him “shy by nature” and Inais had said to him once that when Castiel spoke, people listened, because he never opened his mouth unless it was for a good reason. Balthazar was the only one he spoke to with any regularity, and only in private, one on one. They would lay next to each other and observe humanity, speaking in hushed tones about everything they saw, wondering what it must be like to be so small.

As a human, speaking to a crowd was even harder. He still felt the need to retreat into himself when he spoke with others, but usually and in small groups, he was able to deflect those feelings with sarcasm. People usually thought he was a bit of a dick, but he was able to speak to them at least. In a large group, as the center of attention though? He clammed up. His breath would hitch and he would feel this sinking awful pit in his stomach start to yawn with anxiety. He was still “shy by nature,” and now that he knew the touch of shame and embarrassment, it was worse than it had ever been.

And in this moment, he felt like he could cry, like he could scream with how helpless he felt. Lori’s curious expression was quickly falling into one of concern, and he heard someone snicker behind him. Shane was staring at him with one eyebrow raised and his lips quirked in a wry grin, like his discomfort was the funniest thing he had seen all day, and Dale shrugged at T-Dog when he gave him an imploring look. His hands were sweaty, he remarked dimly, balling them into fists as he sat there on a makeshift bench, feeling all of two inches tall.

“He’s from South Dakota. Drove from Sioux Falls down to Tennessee and walked the rest of the way.” He felt the bench lurch slightly, little more than a log held in place by two rocks on either side, and when he looked beside him he saw Daryl had sat down and was holding a paper plate in his face, “Ain’t that right? Here, eat something before a firm gust breaks you.”

“Yes, that’s right. We had a camp, but something happened and it wasn’t safe for me to be there anymore.” Cas spoke easily, completely floored by how quickly he relaxed. He mouthed a silent thank you at Daryl as he took the plate, and Daryl just shrugged. He looked down at the plate as he dropped it to his lap, and kept talking, “Our leader, Dean, he snapped and wanted to do something awful. I tried to convince others to go with me but they wouldn’t, so I stole his Impala and just drove.”

“Where were you driving to?” It was Dale who asked this time, his eyes wide under the brim his Tilley hat, “And walking to? Did you have a destination in mind?”

“No.” Cas admitted sadly as he watched the faces around the circle fall, almost in unison, “I didn’t have anywhere to go, I just picked a direction on a map and drove. When I made it to Georgia and the car ran out of gas, I thought for sure I wasn’t going to last much longer. So I decided to just keep walking east, so at least I could see the ocean one last time before I died.” He smiled softly, and was glad when Dale returned it, “I thought I was done yesterday in the woods, I had run out of ammo and was knocked out from the sun when Daryl found me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.” He felt a swift kick connect with the side of his foot, knocking his knees together and he was certain if he looked over Daryl would be blushing, the same one he wore earlier. But he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t want to put him on the spot, so he began picking at the oatmeal on his plate instead.

“Wait, so you stole this guy’s car? And what did he do exactly, is he going to be following you? Is he dangerous?” Shane demanded of him, his face hard.

“He might have been at one point. He’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry, Castiel.” Lori pulled her boy a little tighter, resting her chin on the top of his head and throwing a dark look in Shane’s direction. Shane physically balked and threw his hands up, but he backed off at her behest. Rick didn’t seem to notice the exchange… interesting, Castiel mused.

“It’s alright, honestly its better this way. He himself when his brother died, and he was suffering. He couldn’t make it in this world, not much longer, and I think he knew that. I think that’s why he planned that suicide mission in the first place… he probably didn’t even notice I was gone.”

The conversation tapered then, so he started to eat. He spooned a mouthful of bland, runny oatmeal into his mouth, and despite the look of it, he swore it was the most decadent thing he had ever eaten. Moaning wantonly around the mouthful, he quickly scooped up another, and another, shovelling the food into his mouth with abandon, not caring what he looked like.

“Woah, hey! Easy, man, there’s children present.” Daryl gibed, and the more quietly, so only he could hear, “You’re going to make yourself sick again if you don’t slow down.”

“Sorry! I’m just so hungry.” Castiel managed around a spoonful of oats, and when Daryl shot him a quick side eye he swallowed and corrected himself, “Mae'n ddrwg.”

Rick raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t question it and Daryl buried his head in his hands. He waited, looking up periodically to take stock of his progress, and the instant Cas dropped his spoon Daryl was on his feet, “Are you done or what? C’mon we got shit to do, can’t be sitting around all day.” Cas nodded and stood, excusing himself and following after Daryl, who didn’t bother waiting for him to gather himself before walking away.

 Cas hated Georgia in the summer, he decided, about twenty minutes into their hunt.

It didn’t help that he was wearing a long sleeved sweater and heavy jeans, but all of his other clothes were filthy. Before he left, as he was exiting the tent with his knives Carol had stopped him with a shy smile, welcoming him personally and asking if he had any laundry that needed to be done. He tried to tell her that he could do it himself, that he didn’t want to trouble her, but she wouldn’t hear any of it. “We look after our own here, and now you’re one of us.” She was a good person, he decided, and with a timid thank you he handed over his dirty clothes.

But that still left him out in the blazing sun, with no breeze as a reprieve, and he grumbled and griped following Daryl through the bush.

“Would you shut up? You’re gonna scare away our dinner if you don’t quit your bitching.” Daryl was a ways ahead, cutting through the lines of trees and moving with all the grace and elegance of an apex predator. Every so often he would motion for Castiel to stop, and he would fall into a squat, back arched as he checked and set snares, and looked for tracks in the dirt.

“It’s so hot.” Castiel bemoaned, slumping his shoulders for effect and squinting in the sunlight, “How do you stand this? How long are you usually out here for?”

“Out here? Sun up to sun down.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. We’re not staying out here all day are we?” Cas couldn’t even fathom staying out here that long, what the hell would they do? He was still sick, and though he was through the thick of it the sun was making his discomfort all the more apparent.

“We’re staying out here for as long as it takes to catch something to eat. Now either help me, or shut up so I can get back to work.” Daryl stood and turned, clearly exasperated as he hitched his crossbow further up his shoulder. From the look of his sweat drenched brow, his hair that stuck to his neck and cheeks, he was suffering from the heat too and Cas sighed as he realized he wasn’t helping matters.

 “Fine,” he relented, “but you have to show me what to do. I’m not much of a hunter.”

Daryl nods, and motioned for him to come forwards. The rest of the afternoon was spent fixing traps, patrolling their section of the woods and stalking rabbits. When they came upon a particularly fat one in a clearing, Castiel stooped down beside Daryl, fighting the urge to jump when he broke the silence of their past few hours with a barely audible whisper, “You want to get this one?” Daryl shifted the bow off of his shoulder silently, gesturing it towards him.

“I’m not good with a bow.” Cas confessed, “I’m not that good with a gun either. I’m better in close quarters, with knives.”

“I’ll show you, c’mon.”

“What if I miss?”

“We’ve already got four squirrels and a rabbit, it won’t be life and death if you let this one get away. Besides, you should learn. Never know when it could come in handy.”

He was right, and Castiel took the crossbow when it was offered to him, Daryl moving to crouch behind him.

“Now, sit the butt against you like you would a rifle, that’s it.” Daryl’s hands moved the bow to sit against his shoulder, lifted his elbow when it started to sag, “Keep your finger off the trigger till you’re ready to shoot, just like a gun.” They spread out over top of his fingers, enveloping them and helping him adjust his grip, “Now get him in your sights, just like that. This bow pulls left, so try to take that into account when you’re aiming.” The hands ran up his arm, up the side of his waist to adjust his posture, callouses scratching against his skin, his sweater, before meeting at the back of his neck and straightening his head. “Alright, you’re good. Go get ‘im.”

Castiel could have wept when those hands left him.

He took aim, and gently squeezed the trigger, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was distracted by the nearness of the other man behind him, the puff of warm breath against the back of his neck. He could feel the heat radiating off of his sun drenched skin, could smell the heady mix of sweat, leaves and cigarettes. He felt himself leaning back, almost as an afterthought when he pulled the trigger, unconsciously gravitating rearward, wanting to immerse himself in that heat… and in doing so he pulled the bow up just a fraction, but it was enough to completely mess up his shot. The bolt flew up and over the clearing, nowhere near its intended target.

He cursed and dropped the bow as the rabbit started. The small animal, looking once, twice before scurrying off into the trees had Castiel jumping to his feet. It was fast, but somehow he was faster and in an instant he had pulled his blade out of its holster, took aim and chucked it. He heard Daryl gasp out his name as the blade flew, end over end through the clearing, before embedding itself in the rabbits back, right between its shoulder blades and pinning it to the forest floor.

“Christ, Cas!”

Cas ran over to the rabbit with a definite skip in his step, pulling his knife out and wiping it off on his jeans before thrusting it back into his holster with the heel of his hand. He picked up his catch and held it out proudly towards Daryl, “See? Told you I was better with a knife!” He beamed, furiously beating down unwelcome recollections of a warm, broad shouldered body pressed up against his back and strong, work worn hands on his skin.

Daryl was staring at him, completely dumbfound for a long moment before he broke into a grin. Slinging his bow and shaking his head, he advanced on Castiel and snatched the rabbit from his hands, stringing it up with the rest of their dinner, “That was wild, man. I’ve never in my life seen someone take down a rabbit by throwing a hunting knife… where did you learn to do that?”

“Oh, I have my secrets. Where did you learn how to shoot a bow?” He deflected the question deftly, not wanting to lie right now, and not to this man.

Daryl gave him a look that said he was onto him, but he answered his question all the same, “My dad, he taught me how to hunt when I was a kid. We lived out in the back country, nearest town was ten miles away. Only way to get there was by car, which we only had one of, and we didn’t have much money neither so when we couldn’t afford gas we were basically stranded. We still had to eat though, so we had to hunt. My brother Merle always had a preference for fishin’, but I liked hunting smarter prey.” He swung the length of twine with their myriad of squirrels and rabbits hanging from it, “These little guys might not look like much, but they’re a damn stretch shrewder than fish. You have to think like them to catch ‘em.”

Castiel smiled despite himself as he watched Daryl talk about hunting, about how to set traps and track small game, on how to sneak in the woods undetected. What berries to eat, which will make you sick. How to tell which mushrooms will get you high, and how to use the sap of certain trees to stave off infection. This was stuff that Dean and Sam never taught him, stuff he didn’t even know if they knew. And it was stuff he was too distracted to learn once he fell, despite people in his camp offering to teach him… though he doubted anyone in Chitaqua was as passionate about it as Daryl. His eyes seemed to come alive when he talked about the woods and he became animated, gesturing to all of the different things he was referring to, tapping Castiel on the shoulder or physically turning him to get him to look at the banks of a stream or a nest in the trees.

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a nagging fluttering grow from inside his stomach as Daryl’s hand drifted across the small of his back, guiding him along a narrow path. Oh no, he lamented, this couldn’t be good. Every time he looked at his companions sharp eyes he felt a deep longing tug at him from within his chest. Whenever Daryl touched him his skin burned and shuddered from the point of contact, his breath catching in his throat. Whenever he smiled or teased him, his hands clenched tightly into fists as his fingers ached to touch him. It was all so familiar that it broke his heart.

It was the same feelings he had for Dean, when he first fell.

Castiel didn’t know he was in love with Dean before he fell, because he didn’t have the capacity to love as an angel. But he knew he wanted him to succeed, he wanted to be by his side, and he wanted to help him in any way that he could. When he became human, when feelings and emotions crashed into him will all the force of a runaway freight train, he recognized that the longing he felt for Dean was different than what he felt for others. He didn’t want to run his hands through anyone else’s hair, or his fingers across their sharp jaw, their lips. He didn’t want to be near anyone else like he did for Dean, talking to them for hours about nothing and relishing in their closeness. He didn’t need to please anyone like he needed to please Dean, and didn’t want to be with them in the same way, giving all of himself to stoke and sate a desire that woke suddenly within him, like a bullet woke from a gun. He craved Dean, and then loved him, but he could never have him.

He tried. He really tried. And there were a few times that he got him, got him into his bed and loving him, and he held onto those memories like they were the last sacred thing he had left. Held on tight to the memory of those full lips against his own, tongues slip sliding and what he tasted like, what he felt like when he moved inside of him. The warmth and comfort of holding him in his arms, surrounding every part that made him Dean and revelling in their closeness, the beauty of it as they rocked into each other, breaking against one another. Dean’s whispered confessions in the dark, his name rolling from his lips.

But he never stayed. He always left afterwards, pulling his clothes on in the wake of their lovemaking and stating that this was the last time, always to himself, not to Castiel. He never spoke to Cas afterwards, and sometimes he thought Dean had to pretend he wasn’t there. And his heart would break into a million tiny pieces as he pulled away from him, and he would drown himself in drugs and meaningless sex with whoever would have him, and Dean would go back to ignoring him, pretending he didn’t exist until he needed him for a hunt, or a run. Until he grew sad, lonely and desperate and crawled his way back into Castiel’s cabin at night, into his bed and Cas never quite learned how to refuse him. Not like that, at least. Not Dean.

And now that same feeling of desire and budding affection thrummed through him, followed by fear rising like bile in his throat. He couldn’t do that again. It couldn’t be like that again, he couldn’t let himself feel so hopelessly used. And Daryl, god what would he think? Would he get mad, yell and throw things when he found out how Castiel felt, that he was attracted to him? Jason at Chitaqua had, when Castiel had approached him one night, desperate for Oxy and running far too low. He learned the hard way that certain humans are incredibly hung up on perceptions of masculinity and the implications of their sexuality, even after the apocalypse. Jason had called him all manner of reviling things… He had called him a faggot and queer, threatened him with physical violence, and followed through with it in a way that Castiel wasn’t expecting, in a way that still chased him back into the recesses of his mind when he thought too hard on it. He had knocked Cas about the cabin, taking his own hits and wearing him down, raging that he was messed up, mistaken and wrong. Attesting as he overpowered him that he “wasn’t like that,” finally shoving Cas face down on his bed, ripping his sweats past his knees and fucking him brutally. Castiel had decided that night to be very careful which guys he propositioned from then on, as he spent the night in Risa’s cabin, curled up in a ball on her bed and crying silently in her arms, barely hearing her stifled sobs and whispered apologies over the thundering in his own brain.

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t risk that again, not now. He had been traumatized by that assault, not speaking for weeks to anyone but Risa, not leaving his cabin until Jason was killed on a run... and if he hadn’t met his end, Castiel didn’t think he ever would have left his cabin again. It was his first experience with the cruelty he had watched humans inflict on each other for centuries when he was immortal. He used to wonder at it with Balthazar, his heart heavy but not understanding why they reacted the way they did afterwards, their decisions following not making any logical sense to Castiel. But he knew then that logic had nothing to do with it. That the pain was only secondary to the fear, the utter helplessness and the loss of control. The firsthand knowledge that at any time, any person could wrest your body from you, your autonomy over your being, and you could do nothing to stop it. That was what caused those poor humans he watched to lash out at those who loved them, to retract into their minds, to deny anything had ever happened at all. It’s what caused him to comply with locking himself away, never speaking and constantly high on anything he could find. It caused him to lose his temper when Dean confronted him a week later, made him threaten to leave the camp when he tried to talk to him. To push and shove him out of his cabin, to spit an angry “go to hell” at his worried face, brows knotted and hurt, green eyes gleaming. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is what Risa had called it, and he still found himself suffering it to this day.

He shook his head, clearing any thoughts he might be having away and counted his steps in an attempt to get his breathing back under control. He would ignore it, then maybe it would go away? He just met Daryl, and he was nice to him, he was probably just confused. Maybe, maybe once he got to know others in the camp, he wouldn’t feel this same kind of connection… or maybe it would just get worse. Either way, he just got here and he wasn’t going to fuck it up like he normally would. No, this was a fresh start, a chance to be a brand new Castiel, without the drugs and depravity, with a new group of people and a place to call home. He was not going to fuck this up over a silly crush.

That night, after eating dinner with the rest of the camp, Castiel had all but forgotten about his crisis in the forest. He had spoken more to Dale, and discovered that the older man was pretty well read, though he had a terrible collection of books on him. They talked about _Titus Andronicus_ and how it seemed to fit now more than ever, and they talked about fixing up the RV. He sat with Carl and Lori, listening to them tell the tale of how Rick had made it back to them after so long, and against all odds, while Shane sat nearby, embroiled in another conversation but clearly listening, at least clearly to Castiel. Still so curious. He talked to Carol when she came by to give him his laundry, clean and folded and he thanked her so deeply he feared she might think him strange, but she just laughed kindly. “Clean clothes are one of life’s best medicines,” she had said to him with a smile, and he told himself he would try and talk to her more often. It was a good night, and though he still felt sick he found he was able to bury his cravings in easy companionship.

Daryl was walking with him back to their tents, when he asked “Why do you carry that colt, if you don’t know how to use a gun?”

He asked out of nothing but curiosity, and Castiel looked at him as he answered, “I know how to use a gun, I’m just better with knives. Besides, guns draw more Croats, and you have to stop to reload, it’s easy to get ganged up on. With a knife, I can move with my weapon, I don’t have to stand still, and I can improvise like with that rabbit. They’re adaptable.”

 “Yeah? Well then, why were you so rattled when Rick told me to hold onto it for you?”

“I told you, because it’s Deans.” The had reached his tent a few minutes ago, and they hovered outside, Castiel’s eyes on the toes of his boots now and Daryl standing stalwart in front of him, “It was his fathers, and it meant a lot to him. When he left, when he went on that last mission he left it behind… and I took it. I know I shouldn’t have, it wasn’t mine to take, but I was being selfish. The Impala, the colt, all of this stuff that was so personal, that meant so much to him, and I couldn’t tell you why I did it. But I had to leave the Impala behind and now? Now, that gun is the only thing I have left. The only thing I have left to remember him and Sam by.” He closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth and jamming his hands in his pockets. He felt open and vulnerable, and he just wanted to crawl into his tent and hide as he waited for Daryl’s response.

“Merle’s bike.”

Huh, that wasn’t what he was expecting.

 “What?” Castiel opened his eyes and tilted his head, squinting in the dimness of the night.

“My brother’s bike, you’ve seen it. At the edge of the camp, by the quarry? It’s been his baby since I was a kid. He saved up for it, bought it and fixed it up himself. He crashed it more times than I could count, and he brought it back to life each time. He rode cross country on that bike, hell that bike was his home. So, I get it.” He shuffled, “That bike is all I have left to remember Merle by now, too.”

“Daryl, I’m—” a quick flick of dark eyes stopped him from apologizing, and he didn’t try to tease him either. Not this time. “I understand. Honestly, that gun is a poor substitute for the Impala. Yeah, Dean loved his dad and subsequently loved that gun, but the Impala was their home, like your brother’s bike.” Castiel sat heavily on the ground outside his tent, and pat the dirt next to him, imploring Daryl to join him, “Their dad travelled a lot when they were younger, and when I met them he was gone and they were still living out of motel rooms, dragging that car across the country as they traveled around for work. When they couldn’t afford it, they slept in the Impala. She was their breakfast, lunch and dinner table. She had broken down and Dean had brought her back so many times, just like your brother did with his bike. They grew up in that car… and you can feel it. When you sit in her, when you feel the road beneath her wheels and the rumble of her engine, you can sense the love and connection in her. God, I wish I didn’t have to leave her. She deserved better than that.”

He thought Daryl was going to make fun of him then, getting all poetic and misty eyed over a car. But if he had learned anything in a day with Daryl Dixon, it was that he was nothing if not full of surprises.

“Let’s go and get her then,” was his curt reply.

“Don’t tease me.”

As Castiel admonished him, he looked up from under his brow and crinkled his forehead in a way that made Daryl’s heart lurch uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, “I’m not. We can take the bike, and a tank with some gas. It’ll be dangerous, riding around on a bike with a tank of gasoline and walkers all over, but it shouldn’t take us more than a day to get there and a day to get back, if all goes well. Then we’ll fill up the car, and you can drive it back here with me on the bike.”

“Will Rick let us go?”

“Oh, screw Rick.” Daryl spat, “He can’t tell me where to go, and as long as we’re not taking anything from the camp it don’t matter. Look, how’re you feeling right now?”

“I feel fine.”

 “Really?”

Castiel sighed, and with a finger started digging in the dirt next to his hip, “I feel fine, really. I barely feel sick anymore, but I can’t say I’m not craving it. I’m nervous, I don’t want to sleep and I’m worried that these cravings aren’t going to go away, that they’re going to get bad. They aren’t now, but I have a hard time sleeping without them, it’s why I started in the first place.” He plucked a pebble from the dirt and rolled it from hand to hand, and Daryl watched the smooth motion of his hands as he tossed it back and forth, “I don’t want to be a junkie anymore, and I definitely don’t want to go through this shit again. But I’m scared I won’t be able to help it. I’m scared I’m not strong enough, without Dean and Sam, I don’t know if I could do it.”

Daryl wasn’t even sure why he was doing this, what is was about Cas that made him kind and open. He never talked like this ever, he was never sentimental and girly… he was a man of few words, always had been, and he had never in his life dared to speak so honestly with another person. But Castiel was different, even now he sat there staring at Daryl like he hung the fucking moon, baring his soul without a moment’s hesitation, no shame or fear at the fact he was a total stranger. No, he just said what he felt with no holds barred like he was in a goddamned Disney movie, and Daryl couldn’t help himself. He found it absolutely endearing.

He had grown up in a home where his mom died young, and his father was an abusive dick. Even before his mom died in the fire, she wasn’t present. She was an alcoholic like his dad, but unlike his father she drank for survival, and she even though she could be sitting in the same room as you at any given moment, she was never really there, lost in her headspace where nothing (no one) could touch her. His dad wasn’t one to talk about his feelings neither, preferring to lose himself in a bottle, fucking and fighting his way back out. His brother took the brunt of his dad’s wrath until he finally had enough and left when Daryl was 13, but he was too late out the door and he had ended up just as hardened and violent as their old man, with an added pinch of sad. And when his brother left? There was no one left but him and his dad, who turned all of his negative attentions on him.

That was when he really, truly learned that there weren’t anyone alive who would listen to you bitch and moan. You felt like crying? You bottled that shit up or you got a belt across the face. You had a problem you couldn’t figure out yourself, do you talk about it? No fucking way son, you get black out drunk until that problem goes away. You find yourself checking out other guys in the locker room at school? You ain’t a fucking fruit, go on find some skank to stick it in until you forget all about Eric with the blonde hair and perfect thighs. They were rules you lived by, they were a means to an end… they were just like his moms drinking and his brothers running, they were _survival_.

So when he first saw Castiel, when he first saw those big and wild blue eyes, he felt that familiar sinking feeling in his gut that told him he was just made wrong. When he watched him meander through the woods in the midafternoon sun, sweat dripping down the side of his neck and he found himself wishing he could watch it travel the rest of the way down his back, he dug his nails into his palm and forced his eyes away. And when he knelt behind him at the edge of that clearing, the long curve of Castiel’s back brushing up against his chest with every breath he took, and he felt the smooth skin of his hands, his arms, the nape of his neck… the smell of him, like wildfire spreading through his veins, he knew he was in trouble. Even more so when he watched him stick that rabbit from 60 feet away, when Daryl’s breath grew shallow at the jolt of arousal that sung through him.

God, he was so boned.

So he was attracted to him, to Cas. He could deal with that. He would do what he always did: ignore it until it got to be too much, jerk off thinking about those plump lips and high cheeks, and deal with the shame that inevitably came after. It’s not like he could do anything about it.

But he wasn’t offering to risk his life getting this car because he was attracted to him, Daryl realised, though it didn’t change things. He liked Cas. He was nice to him, he treated him like an equal and he didn’t talk down to him or make him feel like an idiot. He held no prejudices, and he seemed to honestly enjoy Daryl’s company. Most of all, he trusted him. He trusted him with his addiction, with his past, with his thoughts and apparently now his feelings. Daryl had never felt that from anyone other than Merle, and with Merle gone he felt its absence like a knife in his gut, a small and keening lonesomeness that never left him alone. That trust spurred him onward, made him want to keep that smile on Castiel’s face as best he could. And if going to get a stupid car with the mother of all sentiments attached to it was the means to doing so, then that was exactly what he was going to do.

“Well, that settles it then.” Daryl stood up swiftly, “We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll tell Rick first thing in the morning and we’ll go from there.” He looked to Castiel, who was clambering to his feet as he spoke, “We’ll get you that car back, and it will be like Dean and Sam are still here with you right?”

What a strange, wonderful man. “Yeah… yeah that sounds amazing. Daryl, that sounds like the best plan I’ve ever heard.”

Castiel’s heart swelled as Daryl turned on his heel and marched off towards his tent, waving over his shoulder when he said goodnight. And as he watched him walk away, that fluttering in his stomach turned into a sucker punch, blushing furiously as he ran his hands down his face.

He was so screwed.


	4. Gahuti Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos and comments, it's wonderful to know that people are enjoying this odd little brainchild!

“Do you really have medical supplies in that car?”

Cas glanced over at Daryl when he spoke, pausing in lifting the water bottle to his mouth. They were pulled over on the side of Route 225, the road virtually deserted save for a few cars and a long dead raccoon, a short respite in their long, hot journey. They had head out that morning, when the sun was barely up, before the days humidity could set in. The weather was atrocious today, as Cas had remarked quite a few times on the road, and by the look of his travel companion, he was in wholehearted agreement.

Daryl was leaning against the side of Merle’s bike, taking small gulps from his own water bottle and looking positively miserable. His hair stuck to his face and neck in matted clumps, sweat no longer rolling from his skin as it was coating him, his shoulders and arms gleaming in the beating sun. He was already darker, a noticeable burn across his uncovered arms, his forehead and cheeks, but it was impossible to cover up, the thin, sleeveless button up he wore soaked through and clinging like he had just gone for an impromptu swim. His back was the worst, and Castiel almost felt guilty knowing that it was his body pressing up against him that had caused him the most discomfort, as Daryl reached behind himself to peel the muggy fabric from his skin. But that was before he remembered his own sweat caking his own skin and soaking through his tee-shirt and the thick fabric of his jeans, and he grimaced.

It had been a long ride already, having had to stop four times. The first was out of necessity: there was a large pile up of cars and trucks they had to go around, but there were also thick cement guardrails along either side of the road. They had taken care of the few Croats that roamed the street quickly and efficiently, coordinating their movements and using only knives to avoid drawing more, but there was no way to move the cars off of the road. In the end, Daryl took the ass end of the bike while Cas took the front, and they had to carry it over the guardrail, past the pile up, and back over again. That had been the beginning of their descent into crippling exhaustion.

After that, the sun was high and they were already beat, so they been making regular pit stops. Daryl complained that they were wasting daylight, but really, there was no way around it. Castiel didn’t know how to drive a motorcycle, so he couldn’t take over to give Daryl a break, and even though he was just a passenger he was starting to realize it was much more physically taxing than riding in a car. You had to engage your muscles to stay on, you had to move against the bike, with the bike. You felt the unhindered force of your accelerations, of your turns and the wind pounds against you relentlessly. And he could tell immediately that if he was getting tired just “riding bitch,” as Daryl had called it, than driving the thing must be even more gruelling. So he started insisting they stop whenever he felt Daryl’s arms start to tremble, or when the rise and fall of his shoulders started to quicken against his chest.

Not that he couldn’t use the break too. He was tired, sore from sitting in the same position with no reprieve and his inner thighs ached terribly. He could understand why people might enjoy riding on a motorbike. It was exhilarating, feeling the force of your body hurtling unobstructed over the asphalt, watching the world whip past. And it was easier to move around obstacles, faster to react, and less cumbersome than a car. But he couldn’t see the appeal for long distances. Daryl had told him at one of their past stops that Merle used to go on wicked benders, leaving home without a word and just driving off in whatever direction he chose. Sometimes he would be gone for a week, other times he would be gone for months. And all he would do he was drive across the country, stopping at bars along the way, getting drunk and making enemies. He said he would drive for days on end with only his pack, sleeping under the stars and eating what he could catch, saving what little cash he had for booze, and picking up odd jobs here or there when he ran low. And when he finally came home, Merle would regale him with tales of his travels as Daryl helped his brother fix up his bike, enthralled less with stories of drunken debauchery and more with the places he visited.

He had been everywhere in America it seemed, and Daryl recounted fondly stories of the Grand Canyon (where Merle got thrown in a lock up for publicly urinating in front of a group of tourists while intoxicated), the Empire State Building (Merle didn’t stay long there, he hated New York City, it was full of punks and hippies), Niagara Falls (just a bunch of water going off a cliff, Merle had lamented, and you don’t even get to see the fun side). He was open and happy as he spoke, and Daryl didn’t seem to notice how much he was talking, or how nice it was for him to rattle on like this, but Castiel didn’t dare mention it, scared that he would clam up if he ever said a word. So he had sat there, resting his chin on his knees with a goofy grin on his face as he watched Daryl talk about all of the places he only got to visit through his brothers association.

He supposed could see the appeal of a cross country motorcycle trip, he thought, if he was travelling with Daryl.

And if it wasn’t so desperately humid.

“Cas, you with me?”

Daryl snapped in his face, closer now than he was before, and he broke out of his reverie. “Yes, sorry I was somewhere else, what was the question?” He asked, and Daryl snorted as he stepped back towards his bike.

“Do you really have medicine in that car?” He asked again, slower this time, as if he had to break it down for Castiel’s heat-dulled brain to catch up, “The story you told Rick so we could go get the Impala. Was it true, or was it just something you made up to get him to back down? Cause if it’s not we probably should stop at a pharmacy or something, see if we can’t find some antibiotics and shit just to make it legit.”

“Yeah, it’s true.” Castiel answered, sluggishly pulling himself off of the ground and onto his feet. His jeans stuck to the hair of his legs and he could feel his feet slosh in their sweaty socks, much to his irritation. Moving made things worse, but he tried to ignore it and carried on, “I have medicine and first aid supplies: sutures, gauze, iodine and alcohol wipes, hemostatic power… that kind of thing. I have a lot of that actually, the Winchester’s liked to be prepared for anything. And now that I have you along to siphon a car, we can get all that back to the camp. Oh, there’s weapons too!”

Daryl answered with a hum, and turned back to the bike. He didn’t have to say anything, Castiel knew this was his way of indicating it was time to move on. He had gotten pretty good at picking up Daryl’s physical cues on this journey; it was almost like its own language and it wasn’t all that subtle, which he appreciated. He wasn’t good at subtlety, but there was no way he could mistake a water bottle flying at his face as a cue that they were taking a break, or a leading hand on the back of his neck as a direction to move.

And now this was his hint to slide back onto the bike and wrap his burning arms around Daryl’s waist. He steeled himself as he hopped on behind him, grateful that they were back to chest so Daryl couldn’t see the burning flush on his cheeks. He hadn’t considered when he agreed to this trip that he would be spending the majority of the trip pressed close to the man he had decided just last night he wasn’t allowed to be attracted to. It really put a damper on that choice, especially when he could feel the muscles of Daryl’s strong shoulders rumble with the force of the engine, flexing as his hands pulled at the clutch and they tore off down the road. He bit his lip fiercely, and turned his head away, trying to count the trees before they became one big blur along the side of the road.

It was easy to drift off a little as they roared down the highway. You couldn’t really focus on much, everything off to the sides blurring together at the speeds they were achieving, and he couldn’t see in front of him past Daryl’s shoulders, not really. If he sat up straight, he probably could, but he didn’t want to move in case he threw their balance off, or startled the driver. He had seen what happens to the human body when it is thrown to the ground from a motorbike, and he had no desire to become a half-man-half-concrete mutant any time soon, especially since they weren’t wearing helmets. So instead he sat with his head leaning up against Daryl’s back, blocking out the sounds of the wind whipping past with the steady _thum-thump_ of his heart beating. He might have fallen asleep, were he not terrified of falling off, and his eyes drifted closed.

“Shit!”

His eyes snapped open as the bike lurched to the side twice, once to the right and once more to the left, bending at an awful angle and he felt foot drag along the asphalt almost as an afterthought, before the weight of the bike came crashing down on it. He cried out in pain as he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground, sharp and tangling threads of agony shooting from his crushed foot up his leg, all the way to his hip and pooling in his lower back. He tried to crawl away, but it was no use: his leg was pinned.

Castiel immediately drew his knife, twisting and craning every part he could move in an attempt to see what the hell had happened. He heard Daryl curse beside him and heard an unsteady clomp of boots hitting the ground, but he couldn’t see him. He couldn’t see anything actually, as everything was blurry like it had been on the bike, only this time it was also tinged and spattered with red.

I’m bleeding, he thought dully, and indeed he was. He could feel the wetness on his face, the tender sting of his eyes as they were drowned in a viscous fluid that had no place being there. He wondered where from, and why he couldn’t feel it when he was grabbed from behind and pulled upwards towards his pinned leg.

He yelped in surprise, a distressing and feeble sound, lashing out with his knife, not seeing his aggressor but knowing their general direction. He swiped desperately, with all the force he could muster in his twisted up position and the hands left him, a curse sounding from beside him, “Castiel, stop it’s me!”

Daryl, not a Croat. Good. “What the hell happened!?” He was shouting, he didn’t mean to but he couldn’t help it. The lack of sight and the throbbing of his leg, coupled with the alarm in Daryl’s voice was enough to send him into a panic. He pulled the bottom of his shirt up to his face and hastily scrubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to clear the blood, needing to see what was going on. Daryl hadn’t answered him, but he heard him on his feet nearby, and soon he felt the crushing weight of the bike lift from his foot. It struck up a new burst of pain but Castiel couldn’t afford to focus on that right now, instead scuttling backwards on his hands and good foot, dragging the other limply along.

He heard the bike hit the ground and Daryl’s hands were on him again, pulling him to his feet. “Can you walk?” he asked, and when Cas opened his eyes the blood was gone, his vision hazy but clear and filled with Daryl. His face was a mess, he had a long, nasty gash along his cheek and a split lip, and through the blood Cas couldn’t tell whether it would need stitches, but he assumed the worst, “Cas, can you walk!?”

He dropped his hurt food to the ground to test it, immediately starting when a twinge shot up his leg, but once it was down he managed to find his balance. He could put some weight on it, so it couldn’t be broken, and he nodded to Daryl, “Yes, if you help me I can.”

He took his backpack when it was offered to him, balancing on his uninjured foot as Daryl took up his own bag and crossbow, before reaching for Cas and looping his arm around his neck, “Good, cause we gotta go, _now_.”

He wanted to ask what happened, he wanted to know why. A thousand questions dangled on the precipice of his lips and he almost dug in his heels, when he heard a telltale moan-shuffle-grunt from the direction they were driving. He looked up, and any words he might have had died in an instant.

He had never seen anything like this.

Croats liked to group up, he knew this. He had been chased by packs before, in South Dakota, in Chattanooga, and he saw herds of them lining the roads on his way to Georgia. They were attracted to sound, and they made a lot of it, so eventually you ended up with packs of them roaming around, unknowingly chasing each other. But this was on a whole other scale. There had to be thousands of them, all grouped together, shoulder to shoulder, pushing and moving against each other that they seemed to move as one, like the surface of a lake. The smell was overwhelming, coming downwind towards them, a wave of rot and decay that made him retch. The sign on the side of the road said “Welcome to Chatsworth!” and “Enjoy your stay!” but these Croats didn’t seem too intent on it. It was a mass exodus, and from where he stood he saw dozens of them turning corners of alleyways, stumbling from open doors and crawling from under cars as far back as his eyes could perceive, scrabbling to join the writhing horde. There was just no end to them.

His eyes refocused on the line of Croats closest to them, still about a miles off but closing fast, and he felt Daryl tug him towards the right-hand shoulder, towards a path into the trees, “What about the bike?” Cas asked, but if Daryl heard him then he chose to ignore him, pulling him and forcing him to hop alongside him.

The path led upwards, and they were slow going. Daryl hadn’t gone uninjured by the crash it seemed, as he was hobbling beside Castiel, leaning on him just as much as he was being leaned on, his head lolling to one side periodically. Perhaps he has a concussion, Castiel thought with a start, and he immediately tightened his grip on the other man. If Daryl went down, there was no way Cas could get both of them up on his own.

He heard the Croats behind them, a sure and steady chorus of groans and shuffling and he didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare stall their climb. He kept going, his head up and watching for Croats in front of them, to the side of them, his knife still in hand. He saw a diverging path into the forest, off of the mountain trail and on instinct he took it, lurching sideways and pulling Daryl along with him, dropping his injured foot to the ground for a moment, just long enough to pivot them and take a step forward. But the second it touched down, his knee buckled and swayed underneath him, Daryl’s weight pressing down firmly on his side and he couldn’t hold them up anymore. They both toppled to the ground, bouncing off the dirt and kicking up a cloud of dust with a hollow _thump_. Daryl landed right on top of him, catching himself on his hands at the last second to save him from the brunt of his weight, but Cas caught him in the thigh with his knee, and he gasped out in pain. Castiel’s back knocked against the ground, his breath punched out of him in a huff and for a second he was struck prone, unable to move underneath the force of the fall and Daryl on top of him.

Coming to his senses, he fumbled out from underneath Daryl, bringing his knife up and pulling his angel blade out from his second holster. Daryl wasn’t far behind, pulling his crossbow up at eye level and leaning back, and in the same moment they turned in the direction they were running from, expecting any second now to be drowned in a sea of angry Croats.

“What the hell?”

Castiel lowered his weapons, as did Daryl, and they sat in the dirt, unspeaking and unmoving, pain of their injuries dulling as they tried to rationalize what was happening in that instant.

They couldn’t.

There were at least thirty Croats, all of which were hot on their tail not even seconds before. Some clumped up along the path, while others were spreading out along the tree line to the left of them, or pushing against the wall of the mountain to their right. Their feet shuffled, kicking up dust and branches, and they lurched forward, until they got to the trail marker at the beginning of the path. Once crossed, the Croats fell back, stumbling and waving as if they had been physically pushed, and they would pause before trying again. But no matter how hard they tried, every time they crossed the boundary of the trail marker they would fall back, an invisible wall separating Castiel and Daryl from the dead.

“They’re afraid of something.” Daryl remarked, and Castiel hummed, unable to look away from what was happening in front of him, worried that this was some kind of awful cosmic joke, and the second he let down his guard the invisible barrier would break and he would be Croat food. “They look like animals, like when an animal wanders into a predator’s territory. It knows when it’s there because it’s all it can smell. These things can tell a human by its scent, maybe there’s something in these mountains that walkers are afraid of?”

“Yeah, but what could possibly be scary to walkers?” Castiel contested, “And how come it’s only on this trail? Look how they’re lined up, it’s like the trail marker is a stop sign to them or something.”

“I don’t know, maybe bears?” Daryl threw out, “I honestly ain’t gonna knock it either, we’d be dead right now if it weren’t for this. We’re in rough shape man, no way would we have made it much further up the mountain.”

Castiel could only nod in agreement. They were a mess, both of them. Now that he had a good look at Daryl, he saw that the left side of his pants were torn to shreds, and his skin fared no better. From ankle to hip he was covered in road burn, blood welling in rivulets from the scrapes, pebbles and dirt sticking to the deepest gashes. They needed to get that cleaned as soon as possible, and same with his hands. They were split along the palms, and his poor head... The scrape along his face was nowhere near the worst of his injuries, but Castiel could see the way his eyes glazed over, the way his head dipped every now and again and he worried that Daryl had a concussion. At least the split lip had stopped bleeding.

He was being hoisted to his feet again, and before he could protest Daryl had thrown his arm over his shoulders, trying to take the brunt of his weight as he had before, “C’mon, we gotta go. Whatever can scare a walker is not something I want to meet.”

“It’s kind of interesting though, isn’t it?” Castiel broke the silence of their walk as they plodded slowly through the trees, carrying along the Croat-free Gahuti Trail, “That they have self-preservation instincts? I always thought they were mindless, and while they aren’t smart by any means, the fact that they fear predator’s means that they must have retained some brain activity, right?”

“Yeah, it also means we’re their prey.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Castiel questioned, turning to shoot Daryl an inquisitive look, “As far as we know, we are their primary food source. Maybe they’ll eat other animals too if they’re starving, but if you put an animal and a human side by side, they’ll go for the human first every time. We were prey from day one.”

“I know that, man.” Daryl spat, hesitating as he listened to the trees, listening for walkers, “I just don’t like to think about it like that. I’m no one’s prey, and I’m no one’s dinner. I’m the apex predator.”

They were silent after that. Nothing to talk about, and both in a great deal of pain. Castiel could see in his eyes that Daryl was looking for a place to settle down for the night, but didn’t want to be out in the open. He didn’t blame him. They didn’t know the rules to the strange “humans only” spell that seemed to be cast over this trail. What if they camped out on the path and walkers suddenly managed to break through? They would be sitting ducks. Not to mention Daryl’s bear theory.

Out of the corner of his eye, so innocuous that Castiel almost missed it, the solution to their problem materialized. “Daryl, look!” Raising his free hand, Castiel pointed to the left of their path, down a little hill into the trees. It was faint, obscured by trunks and leaves but he could just make out the shape of a building, “Maybe we could stay there for the night? Rest up, wait for the horde to leave and then head back for the bike in the morning? Maybe we could make it defensible.”

Castiel couldn’t get a read off of him right now, his face was impassive and blank as he maneuvered his head, trying to get a good look at the building through the trees. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder and he worried the thumb of his free hand between his teeth incessantly, for a long moment just staring into the woods, his mind running a mile a minute. And then with a sigh, he dropped his hand and nodded, helping Castiel slide down the gentle slope into the trees.

It was a chapel, Cas noted as they got closer. A tiny stone thing, with a brass bell in its steeple and the evidence of centuries of wear and tear. It was obviously old and abandoned, but there was still a door, so it could still function as a semi-passable shelter. The trees had begun to encroach on its space, and around the side of the little chapel he could see the flat markers of gravesites being pushed from the ground by errant roots. This part of the forest was calm, no sound but the buzzing of insects and the wayward wind which shook the trees around them, and helped to cool the sweat on their skin. Leaves slid from the thatched roof with each gust, and Castiel felt himself begin to unwind. This part of the woods seemed untouched by the apocalypse, quiet and empty, it was beautiful. It was a little like how the world used to be.

But Daryl didn’t seem to find it as relaxing. Instead, when they approached the chapel in the clearing he seemed to do the exact opposite, his shoulders tensing so much that Castiel could feel it clearly under his arm. He was steadily walking through the leaves towards the chapel door, and he wasn’t stopping or stalling but Cas could see his eyes darting in every direction, a look of pensive worry pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Cas didn’t want to ask what was wrong, not right now. He wanted to get inside the church, to sit and dress their wounds, and maybe have something to eat. He wanted to get settled for the night, to set up his lantern and get his aching foot off of the ground. He moved along with Daryl, both of them leaning so heavily on each other it was a wonder they even managed to stay upright at all, and with his free hand he pushed open the slatted wooden door to the church.

The smell of blood hit them like a sledgehammer.

There had been people in this cabin, and recently, if the slowly drying blood caked to the back of the door, the walls, and the ceiling were any indication. There were the remnants of three sleeping bags, two lamps and three packs littered on the ground, with rows of old and rotting pews forming a defensive wall around the perimeter of the sleeping space. Remains of a campfire sat in the middle of the circle, and Castiel was willing to bet it was still warm. The structure of the inside of the church was slowly decaying, but stable, still a passable shelter with four walls and a roof, but the windows had all been smashed out, with shards of glass littered around each, looking like they were broken from the outside in.

If it weren’t for the sleeping bags, nothing would seem amiss besides the missing travellers. Even the blood could seem standard nowadays with the living dead milling about, and it would just seem that someone had made a camp here, and never came back for it. But the sleeping bags… the sleeping bags were decimated. Completely shredded, torn and strewn about the room. Ribbons of all different colors and sizes, thick balls of stuffing that were once white, now soaked through with blood littered the floor, stuck to the walls, and were strung from the rafters and across the pews, like the worlds goriest ticker tape parade. Something had sliced through them, and through the people in them as well, before tossing them aside… but there were no people here. No bodies, and no walkers for miles. And the blood was still fresh, it couldn’t have been older than a night. No, this happened recently. So where were the bodies?

“I knew something was off about this place.” Daryl griped, as he started collecting the bags, putting them aside for later before he started shoving at the pews. He was hobbling, but determined to upend the rotting carcasses of wood, and use them to block the doors and windows.

Seeing what he was doing, Castiel dropped his bag and began to help, “What do you mean?” He asked, shifting a lopsided bench up against the back window with a grunt, “What did you think was wrong with this place? I mean, now obviously… god, they must have been mauled. Daryl, do you really think we should stay here?”

“No.” Was his curt reply, moving to the next pew, the next window, sweat mixing with the blood on his face and dripping from the tip of his nose, “No, I don’t, but we’re out of options. We’re safer in here than we are out there, and nights comin’ fast. If we don’t get fixed up soon, we’re going to have to deal with infection on top of being stranded in the mountains, and I would rather take what little shelter I can find than sleep on the trail.” He turned to look at a particularly gruesome display of stuffing and pink fabric at the altar of the chapel, “Besides, these poor fuckers didn’t think to block the doors and windows like we are. They basically just served themselves up as a feast.”

He couldn’t argue with that, and as soon as he got the door barred, Castiel spread his sleeping bag out on the ground, lighting his lamp and digging out his first aid kit. They worked in silence to patch each other up, both grateful that none of their wounds needed stitches, the worst of them only necessitating a butterfly closure or two. Cas even had safety pins in his bag, so when he was finished fixing up Daryl’s mangled leg, he was able to pin his pants shut as well.

When he was done with the worst of his cuts and bruises, he graciously confirmed that Daryl hadn’t, in fact, sustained a concussion when he moved on to his face. In the dim light of the lantern, he struggled to maneuver them into a position that allowed him to see the extent of the damage the scrape across his cheeks had done. “I may need to you lay on your back,” Cas said, “I can’t seem to get close without blocking the light.”

Nodding, and without a word, Daryl shimmied down until his back was flat on the cool stone floor. They had done their best to wipe up the blood, but without any gloves they hadn’t wanted to touch too much of it, so as he lowered himself he kept a watchful eye, diverting his course if he saw any smears they might have missed.

Sitting with his bad leg stuck straight out Castiel tried to move so he could lean over Daryl to get at the gash on his cheek, the other man flanked between him and the lantern, but he couldn’t find a way to sit without messing up his foot. “Here.” He heard Daryl grumble, and he felt a hand tug gently at the leg of his jeans. Taking the hint, he lifted his bad leg up off of the floor, and Daryl grabbed it in earnest, hauling it over and across his hips, allowing Castiel to settle with his other leg tucked neatly against Daryl’s side.

“Thank you.” Cas murmured, and were it not for the caked on blood and low light, he would have sworn he saw a flush spread across Daryl’s face. Just a curling of pink just below his skin, looping and spreading from the tip of his nose outwards across his cheekbones. But he had to have been imagining it, or he couldn’t let himself think too hard on it. One of the two. He was in such close proximity with Daryl and it appeared it was going to stay that way, so he forced himself to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, the ones that started fluttering the instant his hand had curled around his leg, and focused instead on the task at hand.

“What did you mean, when you said you knew something was off?” Castiel asked, tilting Daryl’s face towards his as he started to clean away the dried blood and dirt.

“It was too quiet.”

“But what do you mean? I heard noises… the wind, bugs, it wasn’t silent.”

“Not saying it was silent, just that it was too quiet.” Daryl looked so earnest as he spoke, and Castiel found he had to keep looking away from his job to return his gaze, meeting his eyes every few moments, every couple of wipes, “There weren’t no life. No sounds of animals, no _sign_ of animals. Not a squirrel or a fox, or anything all the way here. No dens neither, and no nests or birds. These woods are dead”

“Why do you think that is?” Castiel wiped at his cheek with an alcohol swab, and Daryl hissed at the sting. “Promiňte,” he said quietly, smiling as Daryl didn’t look away, didn’t give him the stink eye this time, just huffed a quiet laugh and smiled back.

“It means there’s something big nearby. Dangerous. Some kind of predator, or an environmental hazard. Something that gets into their brains, kicks off their instincts to get as far away as they can.”

“Do you think whatever drove the animals away, could be keeping the walkers at bay as well?” Cas paused in his ministrations to look him the eye, his hand hanging like the question between them for a long, drawn out moment.

Daryl averted his gaze, pursing his lips and considering it, rolling it over in his mind. “Could be,” he said reluctantly, “though that kind of rules out the bear theory. Honestly, I don’t have any idea what could be in these woods. If it got these people. If it’s keeping the animals away… I’ve never heard of anything like this.” When he turned back to Cas, he was smiling again, and though it was forced and rueful it was still comforting, “I hadn’t heard of the dead coming back to life either though, don’t mean that ain’t real. Didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. There’s a lot of things that I don’t know, that I’ve never seen, but that exist all the same, right?”

“Right.” Castiel agreed, sticking a few butterfly bandages to Daryl’s cheek, his voice soft and barely audible in the old, open room of the church, “’Belief consists in accepting the affirmations of the soul.’”

“And my soul affirms that I know nothing.” Daryl spoke just as softly, as he shifted out from under Castiel’s leg, sitting up and pulling the injured foot into his lap, pulling an ace bandage from his pack. He studied his swollen ankle, the bruises blossoming underneath his skin, and rotated his foot, muttering a hasty apology when Castiel hissed in pain. Looking around the room, at the blood and the mess, to his own injured leg and back to Cas’ poor foot, he laughed disdainfully and shook his head, beginning to wrap his ankle with surprising tenderness, ’We wait for the stroke of doom.’” He spoke softly, so quietly that Cas wasn’t sure he had heard him at all.

“'Then you think that the Darkness is coming? Darkness unescapable?'” Castiel replied, staring down his foot, enamoured by the movements of Daryl’s hands as he worked.  

His face was impassive now, in the dim light of the lantern, but his touch was kind and gentle, matching the shocking softness of his voice as he spoke, “‘I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days.” Daryl’s hands ghosted across the skin of his ankle, rolling the bandage under his heel and skimming the pad of his thumb fondly across the arch of his foot, “’But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny.’”

Castiel was certain if he looked up from his foot, at that moment he would see that self-same blush he had convinced himself was an imagining only moments before. But he couldn’t look away, his eyes were locked on his ankle rolling between Daryl’s strong hands, the work worn fingers gliding reverently across his bruised skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Stoking flames along the sole of his foot, sloping across his heel, pressing into the tender flesh and weaving bone just below his toes. Places his hands had no reason to be, but were unquestionably welcome all the same. Touches so gentle that he thought he was imagining things once more, and he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t break this spell.

“’In this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure.'”

Before he could let himself think, before he could talk himself out of it, remind himself that he had decided this was a terrible idea not even a full day beforehand, Castiel moved. Bending his injured leg at the knee, he pushed forward with his hands, sliding himself across the floor and closing the gap between himself and Daryl, drawing close. And lifting one hand, he grasped at the back of Daryl’s neck, leaning and bending awkwardly towards him as he pressed his lips gently against the other man’s brow.

Daryl’s sharp intake of breath was all it took to draw him out of his reverie, but even as his heart pounded in his ears, liquid adrenaline thrumming through his veins he didn’t pull his hand away. Even when he drew back, his eyes open and meeting Daryl’s, his hand stayed firm on the back of the other man’s neck, his thumb resting against his pulse, feeling it race and beat in time with his own.

He was no longer impassive, Cas noted with a mingling of fear and elation. His once closed off face was now broken wide with an emotion that he couldn’t quite place. His jaw was drawn firm but his lips open, and his breath brushed against Castiel’s cheeks in stilted puffs. His brows were knotted in an inscrutable mix of confusion and panic over frozen blue eyes, and Cas couldn’t help but compare it to the expression that rabbit wore the other day in another wood, startled by a errant bolt and fearing for his life. But that wasn’t all… there was something in the way the hands around his foot had gripped him tighter, the way they flexed now over his bandaged ankle, unsure of whether to let go or hold on tighter. How he hadn’t moved away, though he could easily do so, and even seemed to be drifting closer, ever so slightly towards Castiel with every breath he took. His eyes never moving, watching, searching for any sign of danger. He would find none, Cas decided, and he tried to school his face in to one that masked the crippling nervousness that filled him to the brim, threatening to spill over.

Castiel couldn’t help the way he cried out, nor the way he flinched, as Daryl pulled away from him so suddenly, lifting his foot from his lap and dropping it to the floor with little finesse. Daryl muttered an apology as he leapt to his feet, and Cas was glad that the injury took the brunt of his visceral reaction, a hot wash of shame and embarrassment cascading over him as he counted the sound of Daryl’s footfalls, willing his heart to slow down and forgetting his suddenly laboured breath. Daryl had immediately walked away, and started pacing the length of the room, a heavy, nervous energy now crackling in the spaces between them, and even though he closed his eyes, Cas couldn’t seem to block it out. His breath was not calming but picking up, turning to cement in his lungs and refusing to leave, to make way for the oxygen his brain was clamouring for.

He could feel, not see, the anger and resentment in the weighty footfalls of his companion. It smothered him like a pillow and he tugged uselessly at the collar of his tee-shirt, the fabric suddenly too tight, too restrictive. He wasn’t breathing anymore, not really, his chest pumping uselessly but no air could pass his throat. He could hear a wheezy, keening whine he couldn’t quite place… a pitiful sound he wondered at as his mind dulled and his limbs tingled, before realizing that it was _him_.

“Cas?” His eyes shot open as soon as he heard Daryl’s steps all but running towards him, and with a gasping whimper he pulled his good knee up, pushing some distance between the two of them as he fumbled for his knife. He wasn’t thinking, he couldn’t think, and the sound of him rushing forward was enough to propel him, his fight of flight reflexes in full swing. He was thinking of nothing but his safety, his injuries compounding in a sense of helplessness that made him forget that Daryl was a friend, that Daryl was safe. The soothing thought that “Daryl wouldn’t hurt you,” was drowned underneath the echoing call of “What if?”

His chest was pumping uselessly, sweat gathering between his shoulder blades as he gripped the knife in both hands, holding it defensively towards Daryl, and that stopped him in his tracks. He slammed on the brakes so suddenly that he skidded a few more inches, hands flying forwards and waving in a bid to keep himself upright, “Woah! Jesus, Cas I just want to help you, what the hell’s wrong?”

His vision unfocused, he couldn’t manage a reply, only more high-pitched noises that squeezed through his throat, and his hands shook so violently the knife fell from his hands and clattered to the floor.

“Castiel.” He looked up, Daryl’s face swimming into view but still unfocused, “Castiel, how can I help you? Can I touch you?”

He shook his head wildly, but he didn’t move away.

Daryl continued in a slow, steady voice, his hands held out at his sides, palms up as he stepped away. He sat on the ground five feet away from him, cross legged and relaxed, all of his movements schooled and deliberate, “Okay, I’m going to sit over here, alright? I’m going to stay right here. I won’t come near you, and I won’t touch you. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

His voice was soothing, rough and humming, and Cas felt the knot between his shoulder blades begin to loosen as the tension in the room dissipated. He heard Daryl breathing, he heard the sound of his voice, and he soon heard a low tapping echoing against the walls of the chapel, “Count them, Cas. Count them, and breathe.”

Daryl was rapping his knuckles gently against the stone floor of the church, steady and rhythmic, and he could hear Daryl breathing with each downbeat. He counted the beats of his hand as he had tried to count his steps, but this time he could focus, the edges of his vision clearing and the ringing in his ears dissolving. His breathing slowed and when he pulled his first clean breath into his lungs he almost cried out in relief, but he forced himself to keep counting, knowing if he focused on his breathing too soon he would just start the whole process over again. And all the while, he heard Daryl muttering under his breath, “Stay here with me Cas, stay focused. C’mon, stay here. Stay present.”

His breathing calm, his limbs aching, and his chest stiff and sore, he finally able to relax. His shoulders slumped and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. His panic faded finally, and mortification immediately took up its mantle. Why had he reacted like that? What was wrong with him, first the kiss then the panic attack? Of every human emotion he had ever felt, Castiel decided, humiliation was by far the worst of all… and he was swimming in a sea of it.

“I used to get them too, when I was younger.”

Castiel didn’t respond, still not sure if what he was hearing was real, or just in his head.

“My dad was an asshole, and my mom a pushover. Both of them were… they were pretty awful, to my brother and me, just in different ways. When I was younger, and I could hear them yelling in the other room, or when my dad used to wail on my brother, or my mom, I used to feel like I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t think, or understand what was happening, so the first few times I just kind of, passed out. No one noticed. But then one time, Merle and me was in our room and my dad was going off on one of his friends, and I started having one of them. My brother pulled me up out of my bed and shouted at me, made me do jumping jacks, made me count them.” He huffed a laugh, and Castiel lifted his head from his hands to catch the bare hints of a smile flit across his face at the memory of his older brother, “He was yelling at me to not be a pussy, to suck it up, and count ‘em out. And at first I couldn’t I could barely manage one, but he wouldn’t let me quit. By the time I got to fifteen I could breathe again. He didn’t say nothin’, just patted me on the head and left the house. But from then on, whenever I started to feel like I was drowning on land, I would do what he taught me, and I could calm down. And eventually, I realized it was just the counting that helped, so I would do what I just did, tap on whatever surface I could, and count them. Eventually my breathing would even out, and I would start to feel better.”

Cas dropped his hands into his lap, and nodded sullenly. He was still mortified, but he felt better at least. He could breathe, “Thank you, Daryl.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gnawed at his thumb thoughtfully, and Daryl’s next words came slowly, carefully picked, “I won’t ask what it was that makes you have ‘em. But, can you tell me what it was that set this one off? So I don’t, y’know, do it again?”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Cas sat in the silence, listening to the culmination of their breathing and the sound of leaves rolling from the roof of the chapel, and sighed, “You were pacing.”

“Pacing? That’s what sets them off?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Daryl sat up a little straighter, folding his hands over each of his knees and brought his head up to Castiel’s level, “I won’t do that again. You just took me by surprise, is all, I wasn’t expecting you to… do what you did. I mean, you did get it backwards, Faramir was the one who kissed Éowyn’s forehead. You got it the other way around.”

“So I’m Éowyn then?” Castiel spoke quietly still, but he could feel the life coming back into his voice. Of course Daryl wasn’t getting angry, or violent. Of course he was just startled, why wouldn’t he be? He had just assumed the worst, which was valid, but not necessary, “I think I’ve got the wrong stature. And hair.”

“Stature, sure, that’s the difference.”

He threw his head back as he laughed, the panic attack leaving way for a rush of euphoria he hadn’t been anticipating, but which was welcome, “You took me by surprise too, you know. I didn’t expect you to start throwing Lord of the Rings quotes at me.” They weren’t going to talk about it anymore apparently, and he could live with that.

“Yeah well, I didn’t expect you to start quoting Emerson. I’d say we’re even.” Daryl muttered, shifting where he sat, and gesturing towards the makeshift campsite that Castiel was in the centre of, “D’you mind if I head over there now? You’re right next to my sleeping bag.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry, go ahead.” Castiel shifted slightly, but only to grab the knife he had dropped, sliding it back into his holster in his bag as Daryl clamoured past, falling with a hefty thump on top of his bag, “Hey, have you had the chance to read that book I leant you?”

As soon as he asked, Daryl had his copy of _Trilby_ pulled from his pack, lowering it to the ground and sliding it across the floor, “I read it last night.”

“I have to stop loaning you books before you go to sleep… you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t sleep anyways. At least you’re giving me something to do.”

Flipping through the book, he smiled at the myriad of penciled notes crowding in the margins, “I don’t sleep either. Or, not very well at least, so I do the same.” He looked over at Daryl, who was picking at his nails with his hunting knife, “What did you think?”

“She was a moron.”

Castiel laughed at the gruffness of his answer, “How so?”

“She was fine the way she was.” Daryl continued to clean his nails as he talked, but he chose his words carefully, thinking deeply about what he wanted to say before he said it, “She was independent and strong. It didn’t matter that she was modelling naked, she was an individual. But she let a bunch of stuffy dudes make her feel like shit for it, and shame her into changing.” He huffs, “Especially that asshole Billie. She liked him, and she took his judgment about her clothes and her job to heart. But by trying to become more conventionally feminine, she lost all of her power, her charm. She lost her freedom. And then he wouldn’t even marry her! He was too afraid of his mom!”

“But does that really make her stupid? Or just young and in love?”

“Does that matter? She let herself be taken advantage of, she was the one who changed, she could have decided not to. And then, because she had supplicated herself so much, she fell victim to Svengali, who literally controlled her.”

Daryl spat off to the side, trying to seem disinterested, but Castiel could tell he loved this. “He must not have had very many discussions like this,” he thought, “but then again, neither have I.”

“I guess the villain really was Billie. He was insecure, self-loathing, didn’t fit into the role of masculinity that he was supposed to… He was weak and introverted and he took it out on Trilby, beating her uniqueness and confidence out of her because he was too much of a pussy to change himself.”

“You are so eloquent,” Castiel teased, revelling in the change this conversation was bringing out in him, the same confidence and enigmatic energy he had when he talked about Merle’s travels across America, “But you are completely right. However, I fail to see how that makes Trilby moronic. She was manipulated, but anyone can be. And she was part of a society that reviled the way she lived… an outsider, and isn’t it in human nature to desire to be loved? To be accepted? At what point does the sacrifice of personal freedom become tolerable, if it means one can be loved?” He moved closer to Daryl, wanting to see his face as they talked, as they had a normal _human_ discussion about something that didn’t involve survival or murder, “I think, that while she was complicit in her manipulation, she trusted the people who manipulated her, and I don’t think that is a fault. I think that is wonderful, and frightening, and unfortunate that someone would take that trust and use it to harm her.”

Looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Daryl relented, nodding slowly as he set his knife down, “Maybe you’re right. Fuck, maybe they were all victims. All of them, especially Trilby because she was a chick, but none of them were the right cookie-cutter shape they were supposed to be… they were poor outcasts, ‘cept Billie. And even he was a victim, but with the shoe on the other foot, wanting to be a poor artist, but being wealthy. All except Svengali…” He grimaced, “but this book was just about as racist and anti-Semitic as my old man, so that’s not surprising.” He turned to Castiel completely, leaning up on one elbow, looking over at him imploringly and gesturing to his bag, “You have anything less depressing for me in there?”

“I only brought the one book, I thought we would be gone just one night, and I didn’t anticipate you powering through another novel,” he admitted sheepishly, “but you are welcome to it.” Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out _Don Quixote_.

He held it out to Daryl, who took a look at it and smiled regretfully before handing it back, “I’ve read this before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, don’t sound so surprised! I may not look it, but I’m—”

An unearthly screech cut him off, and both of them had weapons drawn in an instant.

“What the fuck is it now!?” Daryl bemoaned, pulling his crossbow up and stepping into the center of the room. The sound had come from outside, to the right of the chapel. He considered looking out of one of the windows, but upon realizing he would be met with nothing but darkness he thought better of it. There was little to no light allowed through the blocked windows, but he could tell that night had fallen by the coolness that enveloped them.

Castiel pulled both knives out of his bag and held them up in front of him, arms crossed and stance wide as he took his place behind Daryl, so they were standing back to back in the center of the room. There was another shriek, and a low whine this time of the left hand side of the building, and they shifted in turn. “I have no idea what this could be, it can’t be a Croat, can it?”

“No, I don’t think, I’ve never heard a walker make a noise like that before.” There was a shuffling sound just outside the door, a kind of scuttling that suggested whatever was outside was moving on its hands and knees… and fast, “Its crawling too. God, that scream is fucking loud.”

There was another and more shuffling, and Castiel was silent, his eyes following the path of the noise on the other side of the wall. He had said he didn’t recognize the screeching, that he had no idea what it could be, but it was _so_ familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he had heard that noise before, a long time ago when he was still an angel. When the Winchester’s were still alive.

“Somebody? Anybody, please help me! Please, it’s out here, it wants to kill me! Please help!!”

The two of them started suddenly at the sound of young girl’s voice, their backs knocking together, “Did you just hear that?” Daryl demanded, looking at him as if he didn’t trust his own ears, straining to hear the voice again over the sound of their breathing, “Was that a girl?”

“Please!! Please, don’t leave me out here! I don’t want to die!!” The voice called through the walls again, the wet and pleading voice of a young girl wracked with sobs. It sounded like it was just outside, emanating through the door, and was followed by a swift bang, “ _Please_!!”

“Shit!” Daryl griped, and with his crossbow in one hand he stalked towards the door, but Castiel grabbed his arm before he could reach the pew in front of it.

“What are you doing!?” He hissed lowly, keeping his voice a near whisper, “Did you forget about that noise? We don’t know what’s out there!” The pieces were jumbled about in his head, tossing and turning as he desperately tried to fit them together. He _knew_ this! He knew this, if he just had a few more seconds to think!

“She’s a little girl Cas, and she’s out there with it! We can’t just leave her!”

Daryl wrenched his arm from his grasp, throwing him a dirty, exasperated glare before taking off for the pews again. The girl cried and banged on the door, and had Daryl started to push at the bench when suddenly everything fell into place.

The Croats wouldn’t enter this part of the forest.

The forest was dead, no animals dared to live here. This was a predator’s territory.

The people in this chapel had left all of their gear behind.

The sleeping bags were shredded and mauled, and so were the people inside of them. It looked like an animal had torn them apart.

The glass was broken from the outside.

The screeching sounds.

The girl’s voice.

There were no bodies.

_Where were the bodies?_

“Get back!!” Castiel shouted as he sprinted forward, pushing Daryl aside with every ounce of strength he could muster. He took him by surprise, sending him sprawling to the floor and skidding into the wall, “Stay down, and don’t open this door! There’s no one out there!!”

“Cas, what… are you fucking cracked?” Daryl scrambled to his feet, snatching up his crossbow and making for the door again. He was intercepted, Cas giving him another firm shove before moving in close, snaking an arm around his back and pulling the colt from the back of his jeans. Before he could react, Castiel had the gun cocked and in hand, but pointed at the ground as he stared him down, “Cas, come on man, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Castiel grit his teeth, not listening but still watching, as the pounding on the door grew more violent. The girl was screaming now, not just crying, and the door shook so violently that the pew quaked along with it. He darted towards his bag, tearing into it, scattering clothes and cans and water bottles, until he found what he was looking for: John Winchester’s journal.

He spared a glance at Daryl, making sure he was staying put, and found him standing near the front door, crossbow in hand, aimed squarely at Castiel’s head. “Daryl, you don’t have to do that, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Daryl scoffed, adjusting his grip but not wavering, “Bullshit, why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on—” A particularly violent slam against the door cut him off, a look of unadulterated panic on his face, “cause that _sure as hell_ ain’t a little girl!”

“I know.” Castiel confessed, flipping desperately through the journal, nonplused by the crossbow and laser focused, “It’s not, I should have seen it sooner, but it’s been so long since I’ve encountered one. Since I’ve come across anything but Croats really, I had almost forgotten there were others out there.” He cursed, standing and taking the book with him, walking a hasty circle around the burnt out campfire, “It shouldn’t even be here, they’re rarely seen outside of Minnesota. You were right Daryl, you were right all along, we shouldn’t have come here.”

_They can imitate the voices of humans to lure their victims._

“Wait stop, slow down.” He heard Daryl say, but he couldn’t though, not now. He had to act fast, it knew they were in there. Placing the colt on the ground, he took up his hunting knife and slid the blade across his palm, “Jesus, Cas _stop_! Talk to me!”

_They are invulnerable to normal knives and guns, the only way to kill one is to burn it._

Castiel dropped to his knees, swiping his thumb through the blood welling from his palm, and began wiping thick, curved lines onto the stone floor, “Listen, it’s going to get in here sooner or later, and when it does you need to stay in the circle! If you stay in the circle, you stay alive. We can’t kill it, we don’t have the means too, but come morning it should leave… it’s fed recently, it already has its prey, and it doesn’t _need_ us, not really. We just need to make ourselves too much trouble, and it will be gone by sunrise.”

_They’re perfect hunters. They’re intelligent._

Daryl watched mutely, mouth gaping around half formed words as Castiel shuffled around on his hands and knees, drawing strange shapes and sigils in his own blood on the floor. He had lowered his crossbow now, not sure which was the greater and more immediate threat to his person: the not-a-girl banging at the door with all the force of a pro-wrestler, or the crazy person writing gibberish on the floor in his own blood. “Castiel! Full circle, man you gotta bring that sentence full circle! What the _fuck is_ _it_!?”

_You can’t out run it. It’s faster than you._

Castiel stood abruptly, the circle complete, and grabbed Daryl by the wrist and hauled him into the center. He caught his head in his hands, and Daryl could almost feel the blood from his palm sticking to the skin of his cheek, but he was lost in the expression of unflappable calm on Castiel’s face. A soldier’s face.

“It’s a wendigo.”


	5. Fort Mountain State Park

Knocking Castiel’s hands off of his face, Daryl stepped hesitantly backwards, stopping with a jerk when he reached the circle of sigils. The sigils Cas had painted on the ground in his own blood. Just before telling him they were being hunted by a _wendigo_.

“You’re insane.” He mused.

“Daryl, I don’t know how to convince you.” Castiel threw his hands up, gesturing to the walls of the chapel, the door, “Are you hearing this? Are you seeing the door shake against its hinges? How would you explain it, if you even can?”

“Of course I can’t!” Daryl barked, and wiped roughly at his bloody cheek, Cas’ blood, “I just, Cas I’ve never seen anything like this, and you! You tell me this is some boogeyman, and I’m just supposed to believe you? Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?”

Castiel huffed in amazement, his face slack and eyes wide as if he couldn’t begin to believe what he was hearing. “Are _you_?” he demanded, “Are _you_ crazy? Or did you already forget that not even hours ago you told me that just because you didn’t know something, because you’ve never seen it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real?” He gestured wildly, knives in both hands gleaming darkly in the sallow lamp light, “The _dead_ stand and walk around, and they feed on human flesh. Is it so hard to believe that there are other monsters out there as well!?”

A sharp crash at the left side of the chapel shocked them both, and Daryl jumped at the force of it. The building rattled, and outside there was the sound of the bell being knocked from the steeple, bouncing as it hit the ground. The shrieking continued, but it stopped hammering the doors, and instead was hurdling through the trees, keeping a determined perimeter. He picked up the sound of four limbs, clinging and leaping from branch to trunk. Long limbed, if length of time between the shaking leaves was any indication, and light, like a fox on its feet. It didn’t sound like any creature he had ever encountered in his life, but Castiel was right. It existed, it was _there_ , just outside those walls, whether he believed in it or not.

“All right, okay.” He conceded, moving back towards the center of the circle and dropping to the floor, “So it’s a wendigo, what the hell does that mean? How do we kill it, what does it want?” He pulled his legs towards him, sitting with them cross and dropping his bow into his lap, “If we’re going to protect ourselves, I need to know how it thinks. I need to get into its head.”

Floundering for a moment, Castiel pulled up next to him and sat down as well. “Here,” he said, pushing the old, leather-bound across the floor to him, “This is John Winchester’s journal. He hunted things like this, and when he died, Dean and Sam took up the job. Everything he had ever faced, whatever he had come across is recorded in here.” He pointed at the open page, at a rough sketch of a tall, emaciated man with long, nightmarish claws, “This is what is stalking us outside. It was once a man, probably lost in the woods or trapped in a cave here in the mountains, who was driven to cannibalism to survive. The man himself is not the wendigo, but the spirit that invaded him once he took those first few bites of human flesh. Kill the body, and the wendigo spirit goes free.”

“So how do we kill it?”

“We don’t.” There was no room for argument in his tone, and Castiel tapped his finger pointedly at the page, “Only fire can kill them, and you need lots of it. If we had a flamethrower, or a flare gun we might have a passing chance, but we don’t. Our guns, your bow won’t do anything more than make it angry. We cannot kill it, so our only chance is to outrun it.”

“Can we?” Daryl listened to the sounds of the wendigo flying through the trees surrounding them, no longer screeching, but occasionally landing on the roof, pausing… it was thinking, he realized. Planning. “It’s smart, and it’s testing us. You hear how it’s getting further and further each time it circles us, before coming back to the roof? It’s seeing how far away it can get before we check if it’s gone. And it’s fast, it’s moving through the trees quicker than we could run, especially as injured as we are.”

“You can tell that, just by listening to it?”

Castiel was unreadable in that moment as he studied him. He was pensively chewing at is lower lip, the lights shining across his cheeks and casting him in a pale, yellow glow. He looked ethereal, like the light was bearing outward from inside of him, catching in his eyes, and Daryl’s mind drifted to strong legs strewn haphazardly across his lap, to thin, beautiful fingers hooked around the base of his neck and those worried, full lips pressed against his brow. How had he found the strength to push him away, when every iota of his being was crying for him to reach out and take him?

“Daryl!”

Castiel was crouched forward, waving his hand in his face and he flushed bright red. Where had that come from? What was wrong with him? Daryl nodded his head in answer to the last question he had heard, and he got an exasperated sigh in response. “Get your head in it!” Cas snapped, “This thing could snap your neck before you even knew it was there.” He had sat back down, turning one of his blades over in his hand as he listened for the sounds of approach, “Listen, it obviously took the people who were staying here, so it has three humans to feed off of. Wendigo’s don’t kill their prey outright, instead the capture them and feed from them slowly, piece by piece… to make them last. Like you said, it’s smart. It won’t keep a large number of living victim’s captive, because then it would be in greater danger of attack, or of one or more of them escaping.”

“So, if we wait out tonight and make a break for it tomorrow during the day, it won’t catch us?” Daryl looked at him sceptically, “That doesn’t seem right, what’s to say it ever stops hunting us? We have a long way to go through the woods before getting back to the highway.”

“You’re right, but with living humans being held in its lair, it won’t stray too far from where it calls home.” Cas explained, “You remember that clear delineation, where the walkers wouldn’t cross? I think that’s as far away from its home as it’s willing to go. I think once we get past, it will leave us. And if we don’t hurt it, it shouldn’t be so angry that it chases us further. So don’t injure it unless you have to!” He held his knife up, holding it pointedly at Daryl, glaring at him from over the edge of the blade, “These creatures are petty, and have been known to hold grudges. We don’t need it chasing us back to Atlanta, if we even get away from it at all.”

“Okay, hold up…” Daryl flipped through the first few pages of the journal, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to pick up any piece of information that might have been left out, “You said these things are people who have been possessed by cannibal spirits, after they’re eaten other humans due to starvation or something’. Now I don’t know about you, but if I was ever in a situation where I had to eat another human being to survive, I would be a damn stretch terrified of ever being that hungry again. So it makes _no_ sense that this wendigo would just let two fresh meals walk on out of here like its nothin’. It would start hording, especially since its primary food source just up and went wendigo too!”

“But we would be a threat to its safety, there are at least three people back at its lair, and with the two of us we would greatly outnumber it. It’s able to make its meals last, that’s how it survives.” Castiel gasped and started as a loud thump at the door sent the pew scraping a few inches across the floor.

“But how do we know there’s only one wendigo? And we also don’t know how the goddamn zombie apocalypse is affecting it.” Daryl reached out towards the bench and shoved it hard, back up against the door which was now splintering at its hinges, “Cas, it sounds desperate. It doesn’t sound like a creature that has enough food to feel comfortable letting us go. It sounds like it’s terrified, and would do damn near anything to catch us.” The creature was wailing, scurrying around the building and trying the old man voice again, and Daryl almost felt bad for it, “Think about it. It’s a good hunter but it’s still an animal, it operates primarily on instinct and its instinct is to feed itself. When its food starts coming back to life as a putrefying corpse, it’s not going to think about what’s happening, it’s just going to assume it needs to _adjust_ when and what it hunt’s.”

Castiel dropped both knives suddenly, burying his head in his hands before dragging his fingers through his hair. “He looks pale,” Daryl thought to himself, “he’s hurt and he’s still not one hundred percent.” They should have waited a few more days, they shouldn’t have rushed this trip.

“I don’t know what to say to that.” Castiel confessed gently, stress lining his face and dulling his eyes, “We can’t fight it Daryl, we really can’t. Any of our weapons would only make it angry, and then we would be goners for sure. All we can do is run… and I know it’s not ideal, but it’s all we’ve got.”

Daryl hummed a low tone, not agreement or rejection, just in acknowledgement. He really didn’t know what he was talking about, and he wasn’t even sure if he believed this creature was real yet. His mind kept trying to provide him with reasons why it couldn’t be, logical explanations as to what was happening, but when he looked at Castiel, who was so pensive and worried, he would start doubting his excuses all over again.

Flipping through John’s journal, he took in the names and faces of many other creatures, some he recognised, some he didn’t. He chuckled disbelievingly at the mention of vampires and werewolves, skinwalkers and poltergeists, things he’s read about in sensationalist novels and seen in the odd B-rated horror movie. But it wasn’t just textbook creatures… there were entries about something called Tulpa’s, complex thought forms that manifest physically if enough people believe in it, and the right conditions are met. About Shtriga, a creature from ancient Albanian folklore that feeds off of the life force of children. Whole pages dedicated to pagan deities and their physical forms, and an intense hatred of witches. Stuff he had never thought of before, never heard of.

“Woah! The Chupacabra’s real!?”

“Chupacabra _are_ real.” Castiel answered, looking over at him with a bemused look on his face and one eyebrow raised, “They’re a species, not a single entity.”

“I fucking knew it, I told Merle I saw one!” He beamed, slapping the book down on the floor and pointing triumphantly at the Chupacabra entry, “He said it was just the shrooms, but I know what I saw.”

He heard Cas laugh at that, and even though it sounded like he thought Daryl was being absurd, he still took it as a win. He leaned back, readjusting his bow and just listened, hoping to hear it some more, but Castiel had abruptly stopped laughing, and was staring at Daryl with wide, fearful eyes that he didn’t quite understand, until suddenly he heard it.

Silence.

“Where the hell did it go?” Daryl hissed under his breath, rising to his feet and bringing his bow up into position. He scanned the room quickly, seeing none of the doors or windows had been breached and the circle was still intact, “It didn’t give up, there’s no way, we still have hours to go until morning.”

“I don’t know, but this isn’t right.” Castiel walked the perimeter of the circle, trying to peek out past the pews through the windows, “Wait!” He held his hand up suddenly, crouching and retrieving his knives with the other, “Did you hear that?”

He had. A low, scurrying sound, emanating from the back of the room they were in, near the blocked off window. It sounded like a small rodent shuffling through the leaves, or gentle scratching along the bottommost stones of the wall. Castiel had heard the general direction of the noise as well, and was slowly moving his way to the window, weapons raised and body low.

“Cas, wait!” Daryl lurched towards him, his free hand outstretched but Castiel stopped him with a look, raising one of his blades to his lips as he shushed him.

“I’m not going to leave the circle, I’m just going to attempt to look outside. Watch my back and cover me.”

Daryl clicked his tongue and took a step back, raising his bow to eye level and taking aim just beside Castiel. He hardly breathed as Cas inched forward, craning his neck to see the outside through the small crack between the pew and the empty window. He heard his feet scuffling on the floor, a curse and watched as Castiel took another hesitant step forward, leaning one hand on the altar to his left while tilting forward a little more, and a more.

Daryl heard the crack before he noticed Castiel’s foot slide out of the circle.

Cas screamed and thrashed as two large, clawed hands burst up from behind the altar, grabbed him the ankle and back of his thigh and _pulled_. He crashed to the ground with a sickening thunk, fingers scratching at the rough stone floor, looking for anything to grab on to as the creature shrieked, yanking him backwards in one sharp movement. Castiel clutched desperately to the altar as he was pulled past, dragging himself up onto the side of it, his torso almost perpendicular to the floor and he dug his nails into the soft, rotting wood, curling his body around it as the force of the tugs on his legs making the muscles in his arms to tremble in exertion.

He howled in pain and faltered, his fingers slipping as Daryl ran towards, him, reaching out to grab his arms. Cas let out a sickening cry, just barely hanging on and as he drew close he could see his body twisted at an unnatural angle, his lower half being pulled ferociously into a secret cellar door they had missed when securing the church. “Daryl!” Cas cried as he reached out and wrapped his hands around his forearms, just as Castiel’s fingers slipped from the altar, and Daryl lurched forward at the strength of the wendigo’s grasp, Cas slipping into the cellar just a few inches more.

Bearing down into a squat, Daryl threw all of his weight backwards as Castiel gripped tightly at his wrists, his face contorted in pain and unabashed terror. He could feel his hands slipping down his forearms to his wrists, and his heart dropped into his gut as he realized he couldn’t pull Cas up. He was losing his grip and the monster was too strong, much stronger than him. The only way it was going to let go of Castiel was if he were torn in half.

Seeing the realization on his face, Cas gasped and shook his head furiously. “Daryl, don’t let go, don’t you _dare_ let me go!” He sucked in a few heavy breaths before screaming in pain, his body contorting as he dropped even further into the cellar, “Please!”

“Cas, I’ll find you!” Daryl shouted, his hands skidding over Castiel’s wrists, fingers catching together at the last second, straining to the point of breaking under the relentless, wrenching grip of the wendigo. He breathed heavily, sweat rolling down the sides of his face and his muscles screaming, “I’ll track you, Castiel there ain’t nothing in this world that can hide from me, I promise!”

“Dar—”

Cas cut off with an unintelligible shout as his fingers were yanked from his grasp, and he disappeared into the cellar.

Daryl cursed and ran to the door, shouldering the upended pew and sending it crashing to the ground. Grabbing Castiel’s colt and the lantern he flew out the door, tearing around the chapel towards the back, where he could clearly see the cellar door, wood splintered and tossed around the clearing. He stopped and listened, closing his eyes and breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself… he couldn’t track Cas if he was panicked. He didn’t have to wait long, and he was moving again in an instant, following Cas’ cries and the violent shaking of trees leading down the side of the mountain.

The path took a dramatic shift on this end of the woods. It was a sheer drop about thirty feet down to another natural landing, and down another sixty feet before the forest started up again. The moon was high, there were no clouds, and it was bright enough he could see clearly across the side of the mountain. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the cliff, frantically looking for some way down when he caught a glimpse of Castiel on the landing below… Cas, and the wendigo.

He had never seen anything like it in his life, and the sketch in John’s journal was amateur at best. It was indeed a man, but taller and thinner than it had any right being. It was easily nine feet tall, but its arms were nothing but skin stretched tight over bone, its ribs and hip bones protruding dramatically through its thin, greying flesh. The little hair that clung to its head hung in greasy strips, and its ears pointed upwards and outwards. Its hands were enormous, with long sloping claws that were currently grasping at Castiel’s back.

Cas had broken away, and was trying in vain to climb an old, wooden scaffold that was built into the cliff face. He jumped, folding himself over one of the beams and twisted, reaching upwards and trying to grasp the next beam when the wendigo’s fingers closed around his bad ankle. He howled in pain and dropped onto his stomach, back onto the beam below him, knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Cas!” Daryl cried, but it was no use. He forced himself to look away from Castiel and find a route down the side of the mountain. He followed the scaffolding that Cas was hanging off of: it continued up the mountain, and he could easily climb down using it. It must had been a path for climbers at one point, but he would have to head back into the woods, double around to the chapel and cut through the path if he wanted to get there, and he couldn’t take that much time. Castiel was barely holding on as it was, with his forearms wrapped tightly around the lowest rung, kicking his legs ferociously and with abandon at the wendigo’s face and claws, twisting out if its reach every time it made a grab for him. He was holding his own now, but he couldn’t keep this up forever.

To his left, Daryl examined the cliff face, and saw a line of climbing spikes embedded into the wall. Left over from hikers, he could only assume they had held a grown person at one point or another, and they looked securely set in the rock. They stuck out three inches from the wall, just long enough for him to grab or step on, but he would be flush to the wall, with no rope or climbing gear to secure him… and it was a really long drop.

He heard Cas cry out his name, and when he looked up again the wendigo shrieked, lurching forward into Castiel’s wildly flailing legs and digging his claws into the meat of his thighs. His whole body shook like he had been electrocuted, his arms tearing free from the beam that he clung to, and he slammed to the ground, kicking up leaves and dust, coughing as his back hit the rock with a nauseating amount of force. He rolled pathetically onto his side, clawing at the dust when the wendigo grabbed him by the back of the skull, lifting him a few inches off of the ground before beating his face into the dirt with a sickening crack.

“Castiel!” Daryl bellowed over the cliff, his stomach sinking and heart pounding in his chest. “Please don’t be dead, please move, Cas _move!_ ”

He sobbed a relieved breath when Castiel’s fingers twitched upon the ground, but it didn’t last. The wendigo’s neck snapped sideways and his head shot up to look at Daryl the instant he heard the cry. And even from a distance, Daryl could see the gears turning in its head, the look of contemplation clear despite its murky, dead eyes. It knew it was being followed.

Throwing Castiel across his back, upside down and holding on to him by his ankles, the creature screamed and fled into the woods below.

Daryl hurtled himself towards the climbing spike, throwing his bow over his shoulder and clipping the lantern to his belt before grasping the closest spike and dropping off of the cliff. He winced as his shoulder took the brunt of the fall, but muscled through it, swinging his body sideways, managing to catch the second spike in his other hand, and flattening his feet up against the face of the cliff.

With a deep, shaking breath the slid his feet down the cliff, reaching with his toes for the next spikes down. He shuffled sideways, lining his elbows with the spikes below his feet before pulling his legs in and letting go of the spikes in his hands. For a brief moment, he was certain he miscalculated; he was going to miss the spikes, he wasn’t going to be able to catch them and he was going to fall to his death, dooming Castiel to a fate that was worse. He held his breath as he dropped, and as soon as his elbows brushed cool metal he clenched his fists tight, he let it go with a delirious laugh before he started the whole process over again.

It took four blind drops before he hit the ground, and if he weren’t so pressed for time he might have knelt and kissed the dirt. Instead he rushed over to the scaffolding where Castiel had been fighting off the wendigo, not even hesitating as he vaulted over the edge of this second cliff, falling down onto a waiting branch. His stomach took the brunt of the fall, but he recovered fast, wrapping his hands around it and swinging himself down onto the one below it.

He was still a good distance from the ground, but he was already troubled by the lack of tracks. The trees hadn’t been disturbed, there were no freshly cracked branches on the ground, no bare patches where the wendigo might have barreled through them. Shimmying down the truck of the tree and falling gracelessly to his ass, and was devastated to find no tracks on the ground either.

There were no clear foot prints, no packed down leaves or anything that would indicate that the creature had moved through here. No blood either, though Castiel must have been dripping it from his head wound… there had been blood smeared all over the dirt on the cliff.

No, he thought determinedly, I have to be missing something. Dropping to his hands and knees and holding the lantern to the ground, he crawled along the forest floor, his nose pushed to the ground like a bloodhound, before turning and pressing his cheek to the dirt. He could hear something, it was faint but he could hear a steady thrumming, vibrations of footfalls nearby and… something scraping.

He pulled away suddenly, feeling something wet brush his cheek. Sitting back on his heels, he reached a tentative finger up towards his face, and when he pulled it back it was blood… dark blood, still warm. Curious, he reached his other hand into the leaves and the dirt at his knees, gently brushing them aside, and when he pulled it back he saw his fingertips smeared with blood, and mussed up foot print, scratched and hidden under the leaves.

“Motherfucker’s hiding his tracks…” he wondered aloud, brushing more leaves aside as he took to his feet. He determined the direction, and began walking, bent in half and brushing leaves aside, the anxiety that gnawed at his gut spurring him onwards. All he could see, all he could think of was Castiel’s face as he was torn from his hands, eyes wide and mouth slackened in shock. He was petrified, the realization of what just happened settling over him in a long, drawn out moment. He thought he was going to die.

But Daryl promised he’d find him. He looked into those watery blue eyes, curled his fingers against his own and swore to him that he would track him down and save him. And in those last seconds he saw, however imperceptible it may have been… Castiel had nodded.

“Hold on Cas, I’m coming.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

I’ve got to stop waking up like this, Castiel thought to himself as he blinked drowsily. His hands were tied with worn old rope that burned his skin as he shifted against it, pulled tightly above his head as he swung on his shoulders, suspended above the ground. His ankles were bound as well, curled gently under his legs and he found he couldn’t move them: his injured foot, if it wasn’t broken to begin with, was most certainly broken now. It ached and every time he tried to shift his legs, a jolt of pain ran through him. His thighs burned, and he could feel the stinging punctures of the wendigo’s claws.

But nothing hurt as badly as his head.

The left side of his vision was blurry, and he could feel the steady drip-drip of blood sliding from his temple, down the side of his face and off of his chin. He could barely open his left eye, and what he could see was dark and fuzzy.

For a while he let himself hang there, floating haphazardly above the dirty cavern floor. There were tracks beneath him, and old oil lanterns hung overhead… a mine shaft, he noted, probably refurbished for cavers back in the day, judging by the age of the lamps. The part of the mine he was in was fairly small, a box like room that opened up into a long hallway directly in front of him. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his head heavy against his chest, when he heard groaning from his right hand side, and immediately snapped awake.

The wendigo, this must be its lair.

He craned his neck urgently to the side, ignoring the tender ache that spread down his spine, trying to find the other captives. It was so dark, and his vision was failing, but the little light that drifted in through cracks in the ceiling was enough for him to make out three distinctly human shapes, strung out separately along the cave wall.

There were two women, and a young man. One of the women, the one that groaned, was reaching towards him, her arms outstretched and fighting against her bonds. She clicked her jaw, gnashing her teeth together as she desperately tried to reach him. She was naked save her shoes, and from where Cas was he could see her stomach was gouged wide open, old and dried blood pooled at her feet. She must have died as it fed on her, he thought regretfully, and then turned into a Croat. The one next to her wasn’t any better, a walker as well, but not moving, and Castiel made out a clear puncture wound in the centre of her forehead.

Maybe, he wondered, the wendigo was experimenting? Trying to find a way to feast on them without them turning into walkers?

The man was barely conscious, and in worse shape than Castiel. His face was entirely obscured with blood, and he could see the flesh of his arms had been peeled back, torn from his muscles with practiced precision. His face was missing whole swaths of flesh as well, and one ear and an eye. The poor bastard must be his last food source.

A screech and a loud shuffle broke him out of his reverie, and he quickly lowered his head, closing his eyes only slightly so he could still keep an eye on the monstrosity, but pretended to still be out. When the wendigo came into the room, his breathing stopped.

He could see the shadow of the creature dragging its feet along the dirt floor, walking slowly and stopping to peruse each of its hard earned meals. He bypassed the dead walker, and hesitated briefly in front of the other. Castiel heard her moans, her feet digging into the floor, and then a sickening crunch. When he worked up the courage to look up, he saw the wendigo had done to her the same thing he did to the other: stuck a claw in her brain, and ended her life.

“Maddie?”

A broken, slurred voice called out in the dark, and Castiel grit his teeth knowing it was the only other live captive in the room. “Maddie?” He called again, breaking into a sob as he rattled at his chains, trying to move off of the wall. The wendigo stalked towards him, tilting its head from one side to the other, and the man cried out, scrambling against the wall, “No please, please no please! Don’t, don’t I can’t!”

There was nothing to be done, Cas thought as he gently, quietly as he could manage started to work at his bonds, slipping his hands up and down. He worked efficiently, pausing every time silence fell over the cave, and speeding up when the creature screamed, or the man sobbed. He felt a rush of pain and suddenly he was making much better progress, dully noting his wrists had begun to bleed.

Suddenly, the man was no longer sobbing, but screaming, and when Cas looked up he immediately wished he hadn’t. The wendigo was slicing at the skin of his wrist, making small, shallow cuts around the perimeter, then up his arm. Snuffling, it dug two claws into the skin it had just severed at the joint of the man’s wrist and pulled upward, tearing the skin from the muscle, exposing the bone. The man shrieked and thrashed, throwing his head back and forth, beating it backwards against the cavern wall as his flesh came loose with a sickening smack, and Cas gagged as the creature delicately folded the swath of skin and pressed it between its teeth, munching contentedly as he swayed to the sounds of his victims screams.

Castiel’s bonds snapped suddenly, taking him by surprise as he crumpled in a heap to the ground, immediately going to work on his bound feet. The sound of him falling startled the wendigo, and he cursed under his breath as the creature turned from its meal, snarling and breathing heavily. With a vexing cry, it jammed its claws into the poor man’s gut, twisting once, twice, and pulling them out again before jumping across the room at Castiel.

He scurried back against the wall with a yelp, dragging his still bound feet in front of him and scuttling on his hands. Every now and again his vision would blur and sway, but he didn’t stop moving, eventually rolling on to his stomach and dragging himself along the floor. He wasn’t fast enough, and large, clawed hands grabbed him by the back of the neck, turning him on to his back and picking him up by the throat.

He screamed around the hand on his neck, he flailed, he kicked with his tied up legs. He ignored the pain in his back, the woozy nausea that settled in his stomach every time he moved his head. He clawed desperately at the creature’s arms, its face, digging his nails into every fleshy surface he could reach but it made no difference. He was going to die like this. Castiel, angel of the lord, done in by a run of the mill wendigo on some nowhere, Georgia mine where there shouldn’t even _be_ wendigo’s.

He heard the gunshot absently, almost as if he were hearing it through water. He didn’t register the wendigo whirling around, or the lantern above the monsters head cracking, dousing it in oil. But he noticed he was falling, and god did he ever feel that.

He hit the ground with his shoulder, crying out and choking on a sob as the impact woke every bruise, every wound and broken bone in his body. His head rang with pain, sparks shooting behind his eyes as his vision swam and blurred. But he could hear it… he could hear a voice, shouting for him to get away, to move away from the creature looming above him.

Rolling on to his stomach once more, he began dragging himself across the cave, heading in the direction of the other victim, huffing and groaning with each movement. His muscles screamed at him, his head lolled to the side and he could barely see, but he obeyed that voice, the one that was no longer talking to him, that was shouting at the wendigo, telling it to “get some.”

He flipped over just in time, his back resting against the wall of the cave, to see the creature sprinting down the hall of the cave, running full speed and screeching. Just in time to see the spark of a cigarette arch in the air, landing atop the wendigo’s shoulder, and igniting the lantern oil. In time to see the creature wail in agony as it burst into flames.

There was another shot then, and this one he heard as clear as day, echoing through the mine shaft. The wendigo stumbled backwards before crumpling in a heap to the ground, and Castiel was suddenly grasped by warm, familiar hands.

“Cas, fuck are you okay? Come on man, talk to me.”

Daryl, of course it was Daryl. Every time he thought his ticket was about to be punched, it was Daryl who saved him. It was almost becoming routine, so much so that when he promised he would find him and save him, he believed him without hesitation.

“No, I’m not okay.” He slurred, letting himself be looked at and fussed over, “But I’m alive.”

He heard Daryl chuckle grimly in the dark before he was blinded by a flashlight, the rest of his body closely examines and his legs untied, “Yeah, that’s some consolation prize.”

“You did amazing, with the wendigo.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, trying to smile but he was certain it just came out a grimace, “That was really quick thinking, with the lanterns. Daryl, if you hadn’t come when you did, I—”

“Stop talkin’, man.” Daryl griped, testing his ankle and examining his head wound, “Of course I came. I promised I would.”

They deduced that his ankle actually wasn’t broken (Daryl had called his bones “adamantium,” but Castiel was pretty sure he didn’t understand what he meant by that), just very badly sprained. It was his head that was the biggest worry. The wendigo had given him quite the wallop, he was going to need stitches, and with all of their medical supplies in the chapel…

“Daryl, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it back to the church.” Castiel murmured, his head hanging down against his chest. His eyes were drooping, he could barely keep them open. “I don’t think I can stay awake, much less stand up.”

Daryl tapping at his cheeks, shining the light in his eyes and begging him, “Come on, man you need to keep those eyes open. Castiel, you can’t fall asleep!” were strangely the last things he remembered before he did, indeed, fall asleep.


	6. Chatsworth to Chattanooga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of your kind words and kudos, hope you enjoy this fluffy little interlude!

The next time Castiel woke, he was back in the chapel.

His eyes felt glued shut as he struggled to open them, but when he did he took the change of scenery in stride. It was morning now, very early judging by the pale light filtering through the chapel windows. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he saw the windows were still blocked with pews, the door locked tight, and the altar was now pushed over top the cellar door. He heard the sound of birdsong from outside, and the distant groan of a Croat. “The forest is coming back to life,” he supposed, struggling to sit up and leaning heavily on his hands, his head still unwieldy, but his vision clear.

Cas winced as he looked down at himself, realizing with a bemused look that he appeared to be missing his jeans. He was in a sorry state, his ankle swollen and bruised, and five large, stitched up punctures dotting either thigh. They weren’t expertly stitched by any means, and he took a gruesome kind of amusement in the fact that he looked like a patchwork piece of embroidery, with large loops of twisted black thread criss-crossing his legs. He grimaced as he lifted the edge of his torn and tattered Led Zeppelin tee-shirt (another Dean hand-me-down he wouldn’t be sad to see go), taking stock of his injuries. His torso was bruised, and there were decidedly more claw marks than he anticipated, but he felt a wash of relief when he realized that he hadn’t sustained any serious injuries there at least.

Pulling himself to his feet, he hobbled slowly towards the back wall of the church, towards the small hanging mirror by the window. When his reflection came into view, he couldn’t help but gasp at the face staring back at him: he was almost unrecognizable. The right side of his face was the most distinguishable, with shallow scratches dotting along his cheekbone and forehead, and a bit of bruising at the inner corner of his eye, spreading along the bridge of his nose. The left side though… it was a mess. His left eye was severely swollen and a mottled mix of dark purples and blackened blues, the line of his cheek and the tender skin under his eye indistinguishable from each other. There were large gashes along his forehead, his skin was split along his brow, and there were four deep claw marks along the bottom of his jaw. The side of his face was so puffy that there was no clear delineation between his cheek and his jaw. His chin was split on the left hand side, and he could see scrapes leading from his neck down to and across his chest.

The worst of the injuries had been stitched, and he was grateful that Daryl had taken more care with the ones on his face than he had with his legs. They weren’t perfect, but with any luck they wouldn’t scar too badly. The blood had been washed away, as was the dirt he was certainly caked in after being dragged through the woods by the wendigo.

“I tried to stitch ‘em up as best I could, but I can’t say I’ve ever done it before.” Daryl walked up behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror and looking absolutely exhausted, “I practiced on the ones on your legs first, so I’m sorry they’re kind of a mess. But, I figured you’d rather me mess up your legs than your face.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t do to mess up the face.” Castiel muttered, smiling cheekily at Daryl through his reflection, “It’s my meal ticket. Who would feed and house me if I weren’t so pretty?”

Daryl scoffed, “Well, at least you didn’t get that smart mouth knocked out of you.” He pulled a face, but he wasn’t being malicious, just teasing. Stepping into Castiel’s space, he placed his hands gingerly on his shoulders, tugging him back towards the sleeping bags, “Come on man let’s get you back down. You look like you’re going to keel over.”

He wasn’t wrong. He was standing with all of his weight on his good foot, his only support being his outstretched arm as he leaned against the wall in front of him. He fell into step beside Daryl, feeling tired and boneless as he let himself be lead towards his sleeping bag.

“When are we going to head out?” He asked, laying down cautiously and supporting his head with his bag, “I heard Croats out in the forest, and birds. If we wait too long, the mountain will be swarmed with them now that the wendigo is dead, and we’ll never make it back to the road.”

“I’m in no shape to drive the bike.” Daryl was stating a fact, and there was no room for argument. He may not had sustained the level of injuries that Castiel did, but he was still in rough shape. He was covered in road rash, and was forced to sit at an awkward angle to avoid pulling at the scabs. He was battered and bruised, the worst of which was speckled along his shoulders. There was no way he could hold his arms up to drive a motorcycle, “And there is no way I would trust you on the back. You’ve been drifting in and out all night, you’d probably pass out and fall off.”

Cas rolled on to his side, wincing as the movement jostled his injured ankle, “We can’t stay here though, we’ll get locked in. We don’t have enough food either, or water… we could stick around maybe another night, and that would be pushing it.” He sighed as a grim look fell over Daryl’s face, “But you’re the one driving, so you get to make the call. What do you think we should do? Whatever you think is best, I’ll do it.”

“I think we should head back down the path today,” he said, his head hanging lowly as he picked at pebbles on the floor, “Just before dark. We’ll still have enough light to navigate, but it’ll be easier to hide from walkers. Then if we make it back to the road, I can hot-wire us a car. There were plenty along the road, and that way I’ll be able to rest a little, and you can feel free to pass out without becoming one with the pavement. We can head on to the Impala, and then drive it back.”

Cas sat up sharply, shaking his head. “Daryl no,” he implored, “You can’t leave that bike. What was the point of coming out here for that stupid car if you just end up losing Merle’s bike in the process? I can’t let you leave it.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall he was sitting by and curling his lip upwards in a sneer. “You can’t _let_ me do anything. And what happened to doing what I think is best?”

“But it’s your brother’s bike!” Cas contended, leaning forward on to his hands, slapping them against the ground, “You told me how much it means to you, that it’s the only thing of his you have left… I can’t be the reason you lose it!” He couldn’t do that, it was his fault they were out here in the first place, all because he was so pathetically weak willed. He wouldn’t let some minute association with the Winchester’s and his own petty needs take from Daryl the last piece of his brother, a brother he obviously loved. He wouldn’t allow himself to be responsible for that.

Taken aback by the vehemence of Castiel’s reply, Daryl breathed in slowly, chewing his words carefully, “Cas, it’s… it’s just a bike, man.”

“Then the Impala is just a car! Fuck it, we’ll just go back to the quarry.” He sat back with a huff, glaring pointedly at the upturned altar, the dried and cracking sigils on the floor, the unlit lantern… anything but Daryl. He was so mad at himself, for even agreeing to come out here at all. He knew it would be dangerous, everything in the world was dangerous now, even something as simple as driving out of state. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then why are we even out here in the first place?” he challenged, his hackles raising alongside his guilt, as he watched Daryl out of the corner of his eye. He was so selfish, and Daryl was being so kind. Taking him out of the quarry, risking his life and saving him all because he thought that car meant so much to him, and why wouldn't he? Castiel agreed, he made it seem like the Impala was the most important thing in the world to him. How could he  _do_ that? How could he deceive him like this? 

“Jesus Christ, what the hell has gotten into you?” Daryl spat disbelievingly, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You’re throwing a hissy fit like a little girl, nut up! Why is this such a big deal to you? We can still get the car, we just can’t take the bike.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for you losing that motorcycle! I won't hurt you anymore!”

“What?” Daryl blinked owlishly, completely bewildered, “Cas, you haven’t _hurt_ me at all.”

“I’m the whole reason you’re out here.” Castiel started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he spoke, the intensity gone from him completely, replaced by a deep, contemptuous dejection. “The crash, your injuries. Finding that wendigo, having to chase me through the forest, getting me back here all by yourself… how did you do that, by the way?” He shook his head sharply, “It doesn’t matter! You have been putting your life on the line so I can go and get a _car._ And now in the process, you’re going to lose the only piece of your family you have left? Daryl, you don’t even know me!” He was staring at Daryl now, watching the way the chewed him lip, shaking his head so minutely he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, “Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve it.”

“Cas, just—” he held his hand up sharply, stopping Castiel before he could interrupt, “Just shut up for a second, alright?”

Castiel clamped his lips shut, his shoulders tensing as he waited for Daryl to continue.

“You’re right, this has been a really shitty trip. Yes, I’m hurt. And yes, I do love that bike. But none of it is your fault, man.” He sighed, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one from the box, speaking around it as it sat between his lips, “I _chose_ to come out here. I was the one who offered it in the first place. And I don’t know, I guess I did it because I like you.”

He flicked his lighter, sparking it to life and paused briefly as he lit the cigarette. It sizzled as the paper burned, smoke billowing against the shafts of light that permeated the chapel and they both watched it rise.

“Cas, my brother was not a nice guy.” Inhale, pause, exhale, “He wasn’t particularly thoughtful, and he left home the second he could. I was with him when this all went down ‘cause he was back in my neck of the woods and needed a place to crash, and I don’t think he ever had a kind word to say about me. But despite all that, he was the only person on this earth who knew me, in that camp who knew me, and the only one who would talk to me or pay me any mind… until you got there.”

Looking over at Castiel, he leaned his head back against the roughhewn stone, cigarette hanging from his lips and looking every bit like an old world movie star. His eyes glinted in the mid-morning sun, and despite the scrapes and scars that littered his face he looked inexplicably elegant, stretched out in long angles across the floor. Cas felt his stomach twist and turn uncomfortably, that powerful longing reaching out from his core as he stared at Daryl. He closed his eyes tightly, willing it away.

“You don’t judge me the way they do. You don’t just look at me like I’m some unredeemable hillbilly fuck up. A slack jawed, back country rube with a racist, drug addict brother and a bad attitude. You didn’t meet me and automatically assume things about me, like I’m illiterate, or dumb, or an alcoholic. You just talked to me like I was any other person, and you meant it.” He took a deep haul of his smoke, pulling it away from his mouth and delicately clutching it between two fingers, staring at it and then dropping his gaze to the floor, “Merle’s been gone for three weeks man. Three weeks, and you were the first goddamned person to actually talk to me since. Who _really_ saw me.”

Castiel was scared to breathe. Daryl’s words were cutting through him like red-hot knives, kindling that enduring want he had been beating down since that first night in his tent. This was the most he had ever spoken, the most open Cas had ever seen him, and he was afraid if he so much as moved he would startle him, that Daryl would clam up and Castiel would never get the chance to see him like this again. So he hung on every word that poured from his mouth, waiting for _something_.

“You were so sick when I found you. You were sicker than anyone I’d ever saw coming off junk, man. And you sounded so fucking gone without it, like you didn’t know if you could live sober and I’ve been there, a hundred times, I really have. I know that when you’re stuck in that hole you need something to grab on to, to pull yourself up with. But it’s the end of the world, so what the hell were you going to hold on to? The only thing you seemed to have any connection to were those friends of yours, and that car.” He butt out his smoke on the floor, twisting and rolling the filter between his thumb and forefinger before tossing it with flourish across the room, “And I guess I thought, if I could get you that car, then maybe you could manage on your own. You could get past all of the shit that’s keeping you shackled to junk, and then maybe you wouldn’t have to leave.”

Cas started a little when Daryl suddenly stood up, pushing himself to his feet and shoving his hands into his pockets. He bowed his shoulders, slumping forward like he thought he was too large, like he might hit himself off the rafters if he stretched out to full height, “I loved my brother. And my brother loved that bike. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it ain’t gonna hurt me to leave it behind… but it’d hurt me more if you were gone. If I lost you, or you left and I was alone again man, I couldn’t take it.”

He laughed suddenly, rocking back on his heels and wiping a palm across his mouth, “Fuck, I sound pathetic. But Castiel you…” When he looked up at Castiel, Daryl’s eyes were open and earnest, nailing him to the spot he sat in, “You can’t go. You can’t die, and you can’t leave. I don’t need the fucking bike if you’re there.”

“And I don’t need the car.”

Cas struggled to get to his feet, dragging himself up the side of a pew and crawling along it, getting his good foot underneath him with difficultly. “I don’t need the Impala, Daryl, I needed what was inside it.” Staggering on his feet, he ran both hands through his hair, wincing as he accidentally tugged at his stitches, the truth sticking in his throat and he took a deep breath. “I didn’t take my whole stash with me on the road. When the Impala ran out of gas I only took what I could carry and the Oxy was the easiest to shove in the bag. I have a brick of heroin in that car.”

The imploring look on Daryl’s face was gone in an instant, and his next words came slowly, tight and measured, “What are you saying Castiel?”

“I’m saying I agreed to go after the car for the drugs.” He held his hands up, palms forward as Daryl stomped backwards, a look of furious indignation on his face, and he barreled on, “But I don’t want them anymore!”

“Bullshit!”

“Daryl, please just let me finish, I—”

“No!” He roared, his hands curling into fists at his side as he stared him down, “No fucking way! I should have known, goddamn it, I know better than to trust a fucking junkie!”

He was practically vibrating with pent up anger and embarrassment, and Daryl’s feet shuffled against the floor where he stood, rocking from one to the other in a curious manner Castiel couldn’t quite identify. And all of a sudden it clicked. He’s trying not to pace, Castiel realized, and his heart swelled painfully in his chest, thrashing furiously against the cage of his ribs.

He couldn’t help it, and what was the point? He liked him, he really did and he couldn’t deny he was attracted to him. When this body became his whole being, and not just his vessel, there were so many thing he had to learn, all in an instant as his grace snapped like a thread. One of those things was sexual attraction, and Cas learned early on that who he found attractive was varied and odd. He could recognize that a person was beautiful, he enjoyed having sex with almost everyone and he could appreciate the human form in all of its shapes and sizes… but the people he found the most irresistible were always just a little too much of something. And that something was never physical.

Dean had been a little too steadfast. He was self-sacrificing and vigilant, putting the needs and life of the world above his own, and that dedication drew Castiel to his side time and time again. Tyler at Chitaqua had been too ferocious, always moving and never stopping, his boundless energy and sweeping moods frightening off most of the camp, but not Cas. He was his favorite, the person he sought out the most, even when he craved nothing other than companionship and Cas had mourned him for months when he lost his life on a mission, cursing his long dead father for taking someone so singularly unique.

And Daryl… he was too kind. He tried to hide it, tried to use his aggressive and gruff persona as a shield to keep people from him, something Castiel wouldn’t doubt was a defense mechanism not unlike his own biting sarcasm. And around the people in the quarry, the people at the camp he felt so separate from, his façade was almost unbreakable. But in times like this, when they were alone, away from prying eyes and able to hide from whatever it was that made him feel so unsafe, he was thoughtful. He was sweet, smart and tender, and most of all he was _caring._

Castiel had never encountered a person like him in his time as a human. He hadn’t much experience in human emotion or interactions, but through his end-of-the-world, crash course introduction he had found that the majority of people who are kind to you, want something from you. He had learned this the hard way, getting trampled over by feelings of hurt and abandonment time and again at Chitaqua. The people there weren’t _bad_ people, not really. They were struggling too, maybe not with newfound humanity, but with the loss of the world as they knew it, their lives upended and never to be rectified. They felt that loss as wholly as he felt his own, and they reacted by growing cold.

Daryl wasn’t like that. Whether or not he felt the loss of civilization as strongly as those at the camp, who knew about Lucifer and the apocalypse, Castiel couldn’t say. But he was never deceitful, and never expected Cas to read his mind. He spoke openly with him, and he took care of him in ways he never would have asked for, or expected. He took his introduction to the supernatural in stride, thinking only of their safety. He was brilliantly strong in his own right. And he would deny it till the day he died no doubt, but Cas knew he would never hurt anyone willingly, or purposefully. He didn’t seem to have a cruel bone in his body, and he somehow managed to hold on to his humanity.

Castiel's mind was wailing at him, trying to tell him he was being foolish, short sighted, that he was making a mistake. He had only just met this man and he could get hurt, he could end up worn out and used like at Chitaqua… but what did it matter? The world was dying. He had already lost everything, and then lost it again when Dean decided to shoot the devil. What _else_ did he possibly have to lose?

Besides which, he had a hunch. All of what Daryl said to him confused him, but there was something in the way he looked at him, when he thought Cas wouldn’t notice, and the culmination of it drove him onward. He worried he had already messed everything up, but he had to come clean about the heroin, about his motivations and if he was going to go that far, what was a little extra honest? If he was going to end up abandoned in the woods either way, he might as well say fuck it and jump in with both feet.

“I don’t need it anymore Daryl, I don’t. I found you.”

The silence that fell over the room was palatable, and Cas swore he could hear Daryl’s heart beating across the room. With a gulp of air to steel his nerves, he carried on, determined to articulate the sudden clarity of what he had been feeling all along.

“Or, I guess you found me. You have to understand, I was alone for so long. Even before I left Chitaqua, before I was on the road, for months there was nothing there for me. Everyone I loved was dead, dying or gone. I lost everything that I was, and the only way I could cope was by getting high, so I couldn’t remember who I used to be.” He sniffed, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, “And I fell so far from who I was, that when I left that place, when I was on my own with no one there to remind me, I forgot how to _be_ that person again. I couldn’t remember how to live on my own, I never knew how to exist sober and the isolation of being out there for so long alone? I lost my mind. So much so, that when you found me, I was ready to die.”

Daryl was standing perfectly still now, his shoulders still raised and his fists still clenched, but he wasn’t interrupting. He was just staring at Cas with a face devoid of any emotion, watching him carefully as he pleaded his case. “I am so grateful to you, for saving my life. Please don’t mistake me, I am so thankful, and I know that I truly didn’t want to die. But when you brought me back to the camp, you brought my body only, not my mind. That was still locked in my past, before the world fell apart and I had people who knew me, and loved me. When I had a family to depend on, and who depended on me. When I _was_ somebody, before I lost it in heroin and dead friends.”

“I talk about Dean like I cared for him. And I did.” Castiel turned to look at the journal on the chapel floor, still opened to the passage about Chupacabra and smiled solemnly, “I loved him once. And I think a long time ago he might have loved me too. But with Sam gone and the end of the world knocking at his door he forgot how to love. People became things he needed to get the job done, and soon he was no longer Dean. He became our fearless leader, to whom the end always justified the means, and he forgot what it was like to be human. I wasn’t exactly spared, and I quickly became the thing he used most. But, you see,” he held up a finger, an excruciatingly scornful grin splitting his face from ear to ear, and he laughed miserably, “I knew him before all of this. Before the dead rose and we were forced back into the dark ages. And like I said, we had… something. So at first, when he needed me, I was at his beck and call. I would do anything for him, go anywhere, I came every time he called. He was _my_ Dean, and I would always help him.”

“But I wasn’t Castiel to him anymore.” He sighed, “I was just another grunt, a soldier. And the more he took from me, the more of myself I lost. So much so, that when I left, like I said I was nothing. I was no one.”

When he looked up, Daryl still hadn’t moved, but he had visibly relaxed now, his hands hanging limply at his sides as all of the wind was taken from his sails. “Do you have any idea what that feels like? Tell me, how long can a person live like that, before they forget how to be human and become something else? An animal?”

“’How will we know it's us without our past?’” Daryl murmured, and this time as he looked at Castiel he wasn’t stalwart and emotionless any longer, “I get it, Cas.”

“Then you understand why I thought I needed this. Why I thought I needed to come out here and get my stash, because without it I can _feel_ , I-I feel everything.” He choked a little, his words bubbling up and out of his throat from a place he couldn’t identify. He couldn’t stop now if he tried, “And I didn’t want to. God, I was left behind and _so alone_. But I’m not anymore. Not if you’ll still have me.” He scrubbed at his good eye, not daring to wipe the welling tears from the other, and he paused around a deep, wet breath. He let the silence hang between them, settling onto their shoulders like dust and when he spoke again he was calm, and his voice was strong and clear.

“Let’s go get the car, but not because of the drugs, or because of Dean, or any other stupid excuse I might have made up in my head. Let’s get it because it will serve as a constant reminder of how much I let someone else change me, so I never let anyone do that to me ever again, and because there are things in it that can help the people back at the quarry have a better life. And let’s go together Daryl, because you’ve shown me more compassion and kindness in a week than anyone has ever shown me in my mortal life.” He smiled, a small thing but self-assured, “You’re teaching me how to be a person again.” 

Daryl didn’t speak, he didn’t have to. Without a word or a sound, in three wide strides he had crossed the floor of the church, his left hand raised and fingers lax as he reached for Castiel.

With a flinch, Cas stepped back, his hands darting up defensively. “What are you doing?” he whispered, his eyes wide and body ramrod straight.

“Just…” Daryl clicked his tongue, taking a tentative step forward as he reached out his hand once more, and this time Castiel didn’t move away. He stood perfectly still as Daryl inched his hand forward, with all the practiced calm of a hunter approaching a wounded animal, “Just don’t move, please.”

Daryl’s fingers brushed feather light against his cheek, skimming the curve of his jaw and running his thumb gently, so gently against his cheekbone as he took that final step, invading Castiel’s space and slipping his other hand up and across his hips, resting against his waist.

Castiel watched with a detached sense of wonderment, not quite understanding what was happening and not sure if he believed it. But when Daryl pulled him in, and his lips brushed over his own, chaste and soft, in a sweetly hesitant kiss, he shakily exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding, his eyes fluttering closed and hands moving of their own accord, fisting in his hair and bunching the fabric of his shirt.

Looking back, he didn’t know how long they stood like that, arms wrapped around each other, mouths sliding together as they pressed harder, kissed deeper. All Castiel knew was when he finally pulled back, not ready to let go but panting for breath, he couldn’t help but laugh softly at the feeling of elation that thrummed through him, the relief, spinning dizzyingly behind his eyes as Daryl smiled sheepishly, capturing his lips once more with a satisfied moan.

They decided to stay in the chapel for one more night, to give themselves a better chance of making it through the woods alive. They would be swarming with Croats by now, Daryl had surprisingly relented, so another night wouldn’t hurt, and they could make for the highway early the next morning. It obviously had nothing to do with wanting a night alone, lying together on the floor, sharing kisses and soft touches in the relative safety of a barricaded church. Not one bit.

And when the sun rose, and Castiel was certain whatever marvelous witchcraft had befallen them would have dissipated, Daryl surprised him again by rolling between his thighs, careful of his wounds as he bore down into the cradle of Cas’ hips, wrenching a sleepy, wanton moan from his mouth before swallowing the ones that followed. He kissed him like he found something, like he meant it, lips and tongue sliding firmly against his own as they moved with one another, never stilling until his breaths grew ragged, Daryl’s hips working like pistons as they thrust against each other, and Castiel came with a broken moan, Daryl tumbling soon after him.

Cas watched Daryl’s face as he orgasmed, foreheads pressed together and mouths slack, breathing the same heavy air. He was beautiful, his brow taut and his blue eyes clenching shut as he groaned in time with the stuttering of his hips. And when Daryl dropped his face into the crook of his neck, holding himself up on shaking arms so as not to crush the still injured body below him, Castiel couldn’t help but run his fingers through his messy, sweat slick hair and press a gentle kiss to his temple.

They left the church early in the morning, and even though this time Cas was positive, would stake his life on the fact that things couldn’t stay this sweet between them, Daryl kept on amazing him. There was never a moment of peace, when they weren’t dodging Croats or navigating rough terrain, where Daryl’s hands weren’t on him. A hand against the small of his back, under his arm as he helped him hobble through the woods. A gentle kiss pressed to the side of his neck, teeth nipping at his earlobe as he whispered directions. Every touch, large or small seemingly spontaneous, as if Daryl couldn’t help himself. He had to be near him so suddenly, like their confessions in the chapel had opened the floodgates, freeing every bottled up urge he had ever felt towards him in the deluge, and it was impossible to close them now.

By the time they made it (as safe as they could hope to be) on to the road Castiel had slowly begun accept that this thing between them wasn’t going to disappear. He let himself believe that he hadn’t dreamt it, and he felt like soaring.

He hadn’t felt it this strongly, this wonderful intoxicating affection, since he first fell to earth. It scared him, there was no denying that. Daryl was a stranger still, he had barely known him a week. But in that short time he had been kinder to him than any human had since he fell, and Castiel was certain if he could still see the way he used to, that his soul would shine so bright and clear, it might drive him to tears. And he couldn’t ignore that he was attracted to him; the way Daryl’s strong back and shoulders flexed under his shirt as he moved sent his heart racing, his long legs and work hardened hands quickening his breath, his strong bright eyes, his sharp chin… whatever it was that did it for him (he had never really been able to tell), Daryl was the embodiment of it. So, even though the ferocity in which they crashed against each other was almost petrifying, and he could hear this nagging voice cautioning him against such a reckless attachment, crying to him from the recesses of his mind, he couldn’t seem to care.

It was the end of the world after all.

He smiled as he watched Daryl take to the road, his hand over his eyes and shielding them from the rising sun. He took him in, tall and tanned and everything Dean never was, but still beautiful all the same.

“Holy shit.”

He snapped out of it as Daryl took off running to the side of the road. At first he panicked, thinking the herd was still on top of them, but when he saw what Daryl was headed towards he laughed out loud.

A tow truck. He found a tow truck.

“It’s still got a full tank too!” Daryl called from inside the cab, half in half out the door, just resting his hip against the seat, “And the fucking keys are in the ignition! Cas, we hit the jackpot!”

“Can you drive one of these?” He asked from the ground, scanning the sides of the truck and not seeing any damage to the body.

“Probably, and it’s not like we don’t have miles of road with no one living on it to learn.” Daryl hopped down beside him, shit eating grin stretched across his face as he threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, “This is great, now we can take the car and the bike, I’m sure we can find a way to cram them both on here. We can have the best of both.”

“Seems almost too good to be true,” Cas teased, nudging Daryl in the ribs with his elbow as he was helped up the passenger side of the truck, “but I guess it’s about time we had some good come our way.”

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He raised an eyebrow at Daryl as he was deposited gently onto the passenger seat. He leaned back against the hot leather, beaming as Daryl leaned in towards him and their lips met. “I think we’ve had a pretty good go so far,” Daryl mumbled against his lips, kissing him again and running a hand along the uninjured side of his thigh, slipping up and under, cupping the swell of his ass, “We got away from the quarry for a little while, got to hunt a real life monster, got to fool around in a church—” Castiel nipped his bottom lip at that, and he chuckled softly, “and now we get to ride in style, and take both the Impala and Merle’s bike back with us. I think we’re living the good life, if you ask me.”

“Duly noted.” Cas sighed against his lips, grabbing hold of his upper arms and holding Daryl steady as he kissed him languidly, only pulling away with a groan when he heard the telltale moaning of Croats getting too close for comfort, “Come on, let’s see if she’s roadworthy.”

After securing Merle's bike and sliding into the driver’s seat, Daryl paused with his hand on the ignition, his fingers ghosting over the key. “Cas, I need to tell you that—” He huffed with a pained look, as he stared out the windshield, following the path of two wayward walkers that had strayed from the trees, “Man, I ain’t ever done anything like this before.” He gestured pointedly between the two of them, “It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it, but with my old man, my brother, the kind of place I grew up in? I would have been killed if I ever tried anything with another dude, so I had to just shut it off, you know?”

Ah, there it was. What Cas had been expecting since the moment he woke up still curled against Daryl’s side: that inevitable, predictable rejection.

“But now, with everything gone to shit and no one being alive to really say nothing about it? It’s probably a really shitty thing to say, but I feel like for the first time in my life I can actually do what I want without being afraid of anyone. And with you, I mean, _you_ , you’re just so…” Daryl puffed out a breath and his eyes widened as the trailed the length of his body, landing on his face with a look of brazen attraction, making Castiel blush unbelieving as he stared down at his battered form, “You’re so you. And I _like_ you. And I know we just met but there’s not much left in this world, so I figure why not, right? Why not just do it.”

Wait a minute, Cas thought to himself as the pieces began to slip into place, this wasn’t at all what he was anticipating.

“So, I just wanted to say that what this thing is… with you n’ me I…” He ran a hand down his face as he groaned at his lack of articulation, a flush spotting his cheeks. He was far less poetic in the light of day, Castiel mused with a smile.

“Cas, I don’t want to stop doing this. What we did last night, this morning, if you want it to keep going, I think I might be… open, to that.”

Castiel had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He was lit up from the inside out with a surge of relief, his fears assuaged as he regarded Daryl fondly. Reaching across the seat, he placed his hand over Daryl’s on the ignition, gently sliding their fingers alongside each other, “I think I would be open to that too.”

He looked a mess and he knew it. He could feel it, he was banged up and bruised, cut and scratched and absolutely pulverized. But he couldn’t help the color that rose visibly to his cheeks when Daryl lifted their joined hands from above the ignition and brought them to his mouth, laying a sweet kiss to his knuckles as he watched him gently.

“Cool.” Daryl uncurled their fingers, letting Cas have his hand back as he turned the key and the engine revved to life.

He was going to leave it at that, let that "cool" hang in the comfortable silence between them as they drove off of the highway and onto a rural road. But there was just one thing that was bothering him, that had been picking at Castiel's brain since they first left the chapel. 

"Daryl, how did you get me back to the church?"

"There was a cable car, that led up the side of the mountain to a rangers station, a few miles from the mine I found you in." He spoke so nonchalantly, like this was something ordinary to him. Just something you do. "I carried you to the lift, and then to the rangers station. I was going to try and hunker down there for the night, but it was completely raided, no medicine or supplies to be found so... I carried you through the forest, back to the chapel."

"You carried me down a mountain?"

"Yup."

With a hum that greatly belied how absolutely astounded he was, Cas turned his gaze back to the road, completely enamored and disbelieving. That was all he needed to know, and reached out without looking, gently tugging one of Daryl's hands off of the steering wheel and grasping it with his own. And without a word they drove through Chatsworth up towards Chattanooga, falling back into that comfortable silence, their hands twining once more on the seat between them.


	7. Highway I-75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned, there's some low-key smut in here and mentions of homophobia.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the kind words!

 

Castiel let out a sigh of relief when they rolled up beside the Impala, and her doors were still shut. Windows intact, trunk closed… she was still perfect. He had been worried ever since he had to leave her there, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the trucks and the minivans that dotted the highway, that if anyone was still alive round these parts they might try to scavenge her. And there was so much inside that car for the taking.

He slid down the side of the cab before Daryl could rush over to help him, and he landed to his feet with a pained grunt. “Man, come on,” Daryl huffed exasperatedly as he started hobbling over to the car, half jumping half jogging. Castiel was forced to stop as his arm was yanked up from his side and pulled over Daryl’s shoulders, and he smiled at him as he wound his arm around Cas’ waist, “It’s not goin’ anywhere, let’s just take it easy.”

“I have to see something,” Castiel pulled forward against his hold, but didn’t try to break free from it. Instead he just took up the lead, soon keeping pace with Daryl as they started to walk once more, “I need to check in the trunk.”

There was a crack overhead in the distance, and Cas could feel his skin prickling, the humidity that had been hanging like a shroud over them for the entirety of their journey breaking slightly with stops and starts of wind. Looking into the distance he could see fat, dark clouds rolling towards them and heavy sheets of rain o, the horizon, steadily moving. “We’re not going to have long before that storm hits us,” he mused as they reached the car, pulling his arm back and leaning against her for support, “Should we be driving in that? Or should we settle here for the night? She’s not the most comfortable bed, but she’ll do.”

“Get what you need from the trunk,” Daryl responded, “We’ll go from there.”

Nodding, Cas shimmied himself down the side of the car, hopping on his good foot till he got to the trunk. He fished the keys out of his pocket, holding his breath and hoping the lock hadn’t been broken, and releasing it with a giddy laugh as the trunk popped open, hearing Daryl whistle behind him.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding about being prepared.” He muttered, sidling up beside Castiel and rummaging through the bags and boxes, “Where the hell did you get all of this?”

“I was stealing it for weeks in Chitaqua, squirreling away anything I could get my hands on in preparation for leaving.” Castiel helped him, pulling open the bags and taking stock of the medicine, the food, the clothes, “And on the way here, I stopped every now and then. Scavenged from cars, old buildings that had been abandoned. Anything I needed or would need, I took it. I tried not to take everything I found, just tried to replenish my stock.”

“Why?” Daryl asked, ripping open a packet of beef jerky and sinking his teeth into a large, meaty piece, “What’s the point, I mean you had a car, I’d have just loaded her up with whatever I could find.”

“Well, I didn’t need it. And I thought, what if someone else did?” He hauled two of the bags out, handing them both to Daryl who gave him a perplexed look, but took them all the same, “What if there were other people out there who were starving, or injured, and that stuff that I took could help keep them alive? I couldn’t live with that.”

All he got in response was a gentle hum, and with all of the bags cleared from the trunk, Castiel turned the numbers on the combination lock. Hearing it click, he paused, looking at Daryl with an expression of childish glee, “You ready to see this?” At the others man’s nod, he flung open the lid of the weapons cache, and was thrilled to hear Daryl’s surprised gasp.

“Is that—is that a _harpoon!?_ ”

Cas threw his head back and laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched Daryl rummage through the Impala’s arsenal. “Yes, that’s a harpoon.” He stated, moving off to the side so Daryl could have a better look, “Everything you need to kill any kind of monster is here in this trunk. There are more firearms in the back seat, but in here? This is a hunter’s arsenal.” Cas pointed at a homemade canister and nozzle combination, held together mostly by duct tape at the back of the trunk, “That there? That’s what we could have used against that wendigo. Thankfully, at least one of us knows how to improvise.”

Daryl tore his eyes away from the trunk for only a moment, just enough time to throw Cas a cheeky wink, before digging through the pile once more. “The hell is this for?” He asked, holding up a clear glass bottle filled with what was obviously blood, “Tell me this ain’t human.”

“It is, but not from a live human.” Castiel stated, not realizing he should continue with his explanation until Daryl rolled his eyes and waved a hand at him, “Oh! It’s um, its dead man’s blood. You use it to poison vampires, it makes them really sick. It’s why they can’t just feed off of corpses. Speaking of which, I wonder what vampires are doing in all of this.” He brought a finger up to his chin and tapped thoughtfully, “They were almost extinct before the Croats, now they must all be dead or dying… again.”

“Vampires,” Daryl puffed, shaking his head and holding up an ornate stone jar, “And this?”

“That’s umm…” Cas stopped suddenly, not sure how to proceed as he was faced with the jar of holy oil. “It’s Van Van Oil, old hoodoo stuff. Its good luck, and when used with other ingredients it can exorcise poltergeist.” He lied through his teeth, and he hated every second of it.

“Okay, what about this?”

Daryl was holding up a stake carved from Palo Santo, and Castiel felt a guilty wash of relief that he had bought his lie, “It’s carved from a very specific type of wood. It’s toxic to demons, much like holy water and if you stab one with it, you can hold them in place while you exorcise them. Otherwise they just smoke out and drift away.” He held his hands up and wiggled his fingers, making a whooshing sound, “And they will, there’s not a demon alive that’ll willingly sit there and let you exorcize them. The devil’s trap will hold them too, but you have to trick them into stepping into one.” He pointed at the inside of the Impala’s hood, “That’s a devil’s trap.”

Absolutely astounded, Daryl dropped the stake back into the car and closed the cache. “Well that’s enough. I don’t think my head can take much more of this, I mean _demons_?” He looked pointedly at Castiel as he started dropping the boxes and bags back into the trunk, “Demons are real? And you can exorcise them, so I assume you can be possessed by one… is that why you have that tattoo? That a devil’s trap?”

“No, it’s similar though.” Castiel scratched absently at the anti-possession tattoo on his forearm. After the rise of Lucifer, after Sam said yes, Dean had insisted everyone they work with get one of them. It was patchy and the lines weren’t quite straight, but Dean never claimed to be a tattooer, and they certainly got the job done. “It’s an anti-possession tattoo, they do the opposite. They keep demons out… we should get you one too, come to think of it.”

“You know how?” Daryl asked, closing the trunk and taking a step back. It was starting to rain, and he raised a palm up to the sky, looking miffed but resigned.

“No, but how hard can it be?” With a smile, Castiel looped his arm back around Daryl’s shoulders, “Come on, let’s get inside before we get soaked to the bone.”

Cas took the front, Daryl the back and within seconds of getting inside the clouds above them burst, sheets of torrential rain blocking the highway from their view, thundering on the roof of the car as lightening cracked the sky. Just in time, Cas thought, pinning old clothes to the windows, dulling the light of their lantern and keeping the Croats at bay. Though if the rain kept up, he doubted they would find them even without the makeshift curtains.

The car was about as comfortable as he remembered, all hard edges and sinking seats, but they were long enough at least to lay back and find some kind of respite. Daryl didn’t seem too broken up about it, quickly carving out a space in the backseat and pulling out John’s journal. He started pouring over it in silence, his face tense in concentration and his fingers running over the page in ways that warmed Castiel’s heart. It was endearing, how readily he accepted the presence of the supernatural, and how fervently he wanted to learn about it. A hunter is a hunter, he speculated, regardless of the prey.

As he stretched his legs, Daryl broke from his book when his feet hit another bag. “How much shit did you have in here Cas?” he muttered, pulling it into his lap and unzipping the light blue backpack. He heard a slow and steady inhale as Daryl saw the contents of that bag, and Castiel held his own breath as he awaited his response.

Daryl laughed, a droll chuckle, as he pulled out a pound of weed. “Really?” he raised an eyebrow at him, tossing the plastic bag in the front seat with Castiel, “You needed all of this?”

“Where am I expected to find more when that runs out?” Cas countered, “I was just being prepared. The rest of the drugs are in that bag too, I have antibiotics, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, codeine—”

“A brick of heroin.”

His heart stopped as he peered over the back of the seat, zeroing in on the plastic bag with the wrapped up brick of powder inside. Even through the layers of cellophane he could see what he had been hungering for, and his mouth instantly began to water, his jaw clenched tight. “I-I told you about that already…”

“It’s okay, Cas.” Daryl dropped the brick back in the bag, rummaging through it to dig out the papers stuffed at the very bottom. He tossed them at Castiel, looking pointedly at the weed in his hands, “I’m not judging. Now start rolling that.”

Not needing anymore prompting, Castiel got to work as Daryl went back to reading, the heroin quickly forgotten to him, but not to Cas. He couldn’t help but glance over the seat intermittently, his eyes darting up towards the bag and then back to his work, cool sweat beading against his brow and his thigh jittering uncontrollably.

“I can put it in the trunk, if you want.”

He looked up with a start, and Daryl was watching him, fingers paused over the pages of the journal as he regarded him coolly.

“No, Daryl you’ll get soaked, it’s pouring outside.” He shook his head as he spoke, dropping his gaze and staring at the newly rolled joint in his hand, “I can handle it.”

And just like that… he was completely ignored. He gawked disbelievingly as Daryl thrust the door open, blue bag in one hand and keys in the other, and darted out into the rain.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t one of his smartest decisions.

Cas was absolutely right, and the second he lurched from the backseat of the car he was drenched. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact it was soothing, the compounding of the heat and humidity of the past few days having burnt his shoulders to a crisp and sunk deep into his skin. He couldn’t dawdle though, not with the torrential downpour ruining his visibility and leaving him blind to oncoming walkers, and he bitterly remembered he had no change of clothes, so he would be stuck in these wet ones all night long.

It didn’t matter, he had a job to do.

The second he pulled that brick out of the bag he regretted it. He saw the way Castiel’s eyes zoomed in on it, pupils dilating and fingers tightening on the back seat. He saw the beads of sweat gathering upon his forehead, and heard the quickening of his breath. There was no way, no way Cas was going to be able to sleep in the same space as that shit, and there was even less of a chance Daryl would either. No, he would be sleeping with one eye open the whole night, waiting for that inevitable moment when Cas would try to slip the bag into the front seat with him and squirrel it away. Somewhere Daryl wouldn’t think to look.

He couldn’t let that happen. Cas had told him he didn’t want it, said he didn’t want to go back, and if Daryl had to be his backbone in this instance so be it. He wasn’t about to let him go back on what he decided for himself, just because he was having a weak moment.

So with the bag in hand, he followed the line of the car through the rain, opening her trunk with a pop, but he found himself hesitating. As he stared at the baby blue backpack clenched in his fist, so harmless despite what it contained, and he couldn’t bring himself to drop it in the trunk. He stared for a long time, feeling the fat drops of rain hammer his shoulders, his hair, listening to it pound the pavement and ring off of the hoods of the vehicles surrounding him.

He couldn’t bring it back with them. He knew that. He couldn’t bring this shit back to the camp, hand it on over to Cas and still keep his conscience. Castiel might muscle through, you never quite know how someone is going to take to a sober life. He might do well for a while, maybe for a long time but sooner or later? He was going to have a very bad day. And then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, he would do the same thing Daryl had watched Merle do time and time again. He would crawl back to it on his hands and knees, and either overdose or end up sicker than he’d ever been before.

Daryl knew wasn’t his keeper, and that Castiel was a grown ass man. Granted he was a _strange_ grown ass man, but he was nonetheless an adult capable of making his own choices. He had no right to make this decision for him, but he also knew the power of what was in that bag, and that it weren’t logic that drove a person back to using. And it seemed he couldn’t help but feel a bit protective, he needed to help Cas and it was something he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried to rationalize it. It was so odd, it wasn’t like him to feel like that about anybody, not even his own kin.

But Castiel, he seemed so… fuck, it sounded crazy, but he seemed so _new_. Like he was never taught how to live, not properly. He felt like a poor sheltered kid who grew up in an extremely religious home, like the multitudes of kids Daryl had briefly gone to school with. His head full of facts and fantasies, words and ideas but no life skills. No knowledge of what it takes to be a human being in the real world, and though he tried his best to hide it, Daryl could see when Castiel slipped up sometimes. Be it when he clammed up in friendly conversation, or when he got frustrated over messing up something simple like the laundry, or when he had a hard time remembering to eat and drink water. And it was in those moments that Daryl first realised he might be feeling something dangerous towards him, when that fierce need to guard roiled through him and he was willing to do whatever it took help Castiel.

And this was one of those moments. One of those decisive moments where he had to do everything he could to keep Cas from harm.

Mind made up and thoroughly drenched, Daryl ripped open the backpack and took out the brick. He dropped the bag into the trunk and reeling backwards, he chucked the plastic bag off the shoulder and into the woods, as hard as he could throw. He didn’t hear it land, but he couldn’t hear anything over the deafening roar of the storm, so with one last glace over the shoulder, he slammed the trunk and dashed back into the car.

“You look like a drowned rat, genius.”

 “Yeah, well you’re welcome.” Daryl responded dryly, flicking his eyes up at Castiel as he reclined in the front seat. His face was looking a bit better, he thought to himself, pulling the door closed behind him. It had only been a day but amazingly most of the swelling had gone down. It was still bruised worse than anything he’d seen in a long while, but Cas was able to open his left eye completely now, and his jaw had started to return to its original shape.

“Here,” a towel landed on his head as he heard Castiel clamour into the back seat, “you’re going to ruin the upholstery if you just sit there dripping.”

Before he could protest, he felt Castiel’s firm but gentle hands sliding the towel through his hair, wiping the water from his face and neck as he did so, before going to work on the buttons of his shirt. Daryl flinched at that, his own hands flying up to capture Cas’. “I can do that myself, you know.” He grumbled, “Besides, I don’t have a change of clothes.”

Cas pulled the towel off of his head and draped it along his shoulders, and with a smile he handed him a large, worn plaid shirt. “It was Sam’s,” he explained, “I found it back here after I left. Might be a bit big on you but it should do the job. I have a pair of sweats here too that should fit you fine.” The sweatpants in question were soon dropped into his hands as well, and Cas went straight back to work on his shirt, long fingers dipping in between each button, pulling it free and sliding feather light along his chest down to the next.

Daryl gulped audibly, the close proximity and the heat from Cas’ hands against his skin sending a jolt firing through his nerves. He closed his hands over Castiel’s once more, but this time not stopping him, just following him along and he worked in silence.

When the last button pulled free, and Cas moved to slide the shirt over his shoulders, Daryl jumped back with a start, pressing his back up against the door of the car. He had almost forgotten, but as Cas tugged gently at the lapels of his shirt, peeling the wet fabric back from his chest and stomach, he snapped back to reality. His back, he couldn’t let him see his back.

Daryl wrenched the fabric from Cas’ hands, his sudden movement startling him, blue eyes wide and shadowy in the dull lantern light. “I can’t, I mean—my back, I…”

Comprehension swept across Castiel’s face, and for a short and anxious moment Daryl feared he would press the subject, try and get him to talk about it, which would ultimately lead to him blowing up and being a dick when he didn’t mean to. Instead, Cas just turned his back to him without a word, and Daryl internally lamented that he couldn’t bring himself to say how much such a simple gesture meant to him. Instead, he quickly got to work, discarding his wet clothes, towelling off and slipping into his clean ones.

The pants fit alright, he and Cas were around the same size but the shirt hung off of him like a dress, and he couldn’t be bothered to even button it. “How tall was Sam anyways? Jesus, he was a large dude.”

Castiel laughed, his shoulders shaking and his back still turned, “He was six foot four? Five? I’m not sure. But he dwarfed me, and I’m not a small man in the least bit.” Daryl heard the spark and sizzle of a match, and the Impala quickly filled with the heady scent of weed, a curling line of smoke wafting from the man in front of him and pillowing along the roof.

“How did you meet ‘em?” Daryl asked as he slid across the seat, now fully clothed and dry, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder. He opened his mouth obediently when Cas held the joint to his lips, inhaling deeply before turning his head towards Castiel’s cheek, exhaling as he pressed a tender kiss to his swollen skin, smoke catching against his stubble.

“We worked a case together. I helped them, or rather they helped me, and we just stuck together after that.” Castiel turned in his arms, leaning back against the passenger side door, readjusting so Darly was seated between his thighs, his injured leg stretched out over Daryl’s lap and the other bent at the knee behind his back. The joint dangled between his lips and he smirked, reaching out a hand and sliding it teasingly along the inside of Daryl’s forearm.

Daryl leaned into the touch instinctively, his head swimming abruptly with arousal and already feeling that first toke. He plucked the joint from Cas’ mouth and held it between his fingers, studying it and watching it burn as he sunk deeper into the seat. “That’s not really an answer though, is it? Just a bunch of vague statements all wrapped up together. What case was it? What’s a case even mean? Were you hunting? What were you hunting?” He shot Cas a pointed look, “Why are you giving me all these little half-truths?”

“I can’t…” Cas trailed off, his hand falling from Daryl’s arm and a pensive look on his face, “I don’t mean to be obtuse, I just can’t say, not right now.”

Already mourning the loss of contact, Daryl took another hit before holding the joint to Castiel’s mouth, relishing in the feel of his plush, chapped lips against his fingers. “Alright, well... tell me more about demons then. Where do they come from, like, hell? Does that mean there’s a heaven too?”

Sputtering on a particularly deep inhale, Castiel coughed sharply, his hands rising to cover his mouth. “I, I mean technically yes, but…” He sighed, a heavy, frustrated sound, “You’re asking me all of the hard questions, and I don’t know how to answer them. Besides, how is it that you get to do all the asking? Why do you get to learn everything about me, but I don’t get to learn anything about you?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“I want to know about your home.” Castiel studied him closely as he spoke, “Where did you live before all of this? What did you do?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about that.” Daryl griped, “For safety’s sake, let’s just steer clear of my family and my home.”

“And let’s stay off of the Winchesters, and demons.”

“So… what the hell is left to talk about?”

Castiel huffed abruptly, reaching out with both hands and wrapping his fingers around Daryl’s wrist. He pulled his hand towards his mouth, taking a haul off of the joint while running his thumb over the tender skin of his inner wrist. When he pushed his hand back and exhaled, Cas didn’t let go of his wrist, and he sat there unspeaking, looking ponderous.

“Alright, well if neither of us are going to talk willingly,” Castiel spoke suddenly, blue eyes locked on to Daryl’s face, still gorgeous despite the bruises and sending his pulse racing, “why don’t we play a game? Have you heard of ‘never-have-I-ever’?”

“Uh, no.” Daryl said with a grin, taking another haul and repositioning the joint in his fingers, realizing belatedly that it was almost burnt down to the makeshift filter, “What is it?”

“It’s a drinking game, or at least it was when I played it. An old friend of mine, Jo, she taught me how to play it once the night before a,” Castiel paused and pursed his lips, looking faraway for a moment before snapping back to it with a shake of his head, “a really, really bad hunt.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he was apologizing, but from the look on Cas’ face that friend hadn’t made it through the hunt. He wondered how many people Castiel had seen die in his line of work, this hunting business, even before the turn? It was no wonder he could handle walkers without batting an eye.

“No, it’s okay. I usually don’t bring them up, but it was Jo, her mother Ellen and I. Basically, you state something you’ve never done, and if the other person has they have to take a shot.” Cas reached under the passenger seat, fishing around and leaning so far off of the side that Daryl had to slip an arm around his waist to keep him from falling on the floor. When he came up, he had a bottle of Wild Turkey clutched in his hand and a sly smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “The goal of the game I think is to try and guess something you’ve never done but that the other person has, in order to get them to drink. If you’re wrong and they’ve never done it either, you have to take a shot instead. And then we just go back and forth.”

Daryl hummed quietly, butting out the joint in the ashtray on the door, casting a sideways glance at the little plastic army man jammed inside of it, before taking the bottle from Castiel’s hands. “Okay, so we’re just trying to get each other drunk then?”

“And get us talking, about stuff we might otherwise blow off.” He sat straighter and Castiel followed suit, pulling himself up on his hands as he spoke, his back perfectly parallel with the car door, “I’ll start: Never have I ever driven a motorcycle.”

With a snort, Daryl uncapped the bottle and took a swig, feeling his eyes water at the familiar burn of whiskey and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Jeez, it had been a long time since he’d had a proper drink, and with his head already swimming from the joint, his movements slow and deliberate he knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to drink _too_ much. But Castiel was staring at him with those bedroom eyes, his predatory eyes that gleamed in the almost dark. He was draped over top of his lap, both legs now and Daryl couldn’t resist the urge to drag the palm of his free hand over Cas’ denim clad thighs, skirting his stitches and digging in once he reached his hips. He was rewarded with a breathy gasp that went right to his head, and as he passed the bottle to Castiel he left that hand where it was, rucking up the edge of his tee shirt and rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles over his hip bone.

“O-okay,” Castiel stuttered, the most endearing flush spreading over the tops of his cheeks, “So, it’s your turn then. Say something you’ve never done.”

“Never have I ever killed a vampire.”

“Alright, I get it. I admit that first one was a cheap shot.” Castiel rolled his eyes as he took a larger swig than he meant too and sputtered around it. His cough turned into a laugh, a full body laugh that shook his shoulders and creased the corners of his eyes as he reached over to apologetically wipe whiskey spit off of Daryl’s collar. With a bemused smile, Daryl caught his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his fingertips, tasting a mixture of weed and whiskey, groaning softly as Cas slid closer to him, carding his fingers through his hair. “One for one, and now its my turn,” he said as he passed the bottle back to Daryl, who was struggling to pay attention when the warmth of Castiel’s body was so close to his own, “Never have I ever gone on vacation.”

Shoving the bottle back into his empty hand, Daryl shrugged when Cas raised an eyebrow at him. ”Drink up,” he said confidently, “I ain’t ever left Georgia, never been on vacation neither.”

“Really?” Castiel ground out, his voice lower and whiskey rough, “So you’ve never been anywhere outside of your home?”

“Nope.”

“Where would you like to go then?” The fingers in his hair stilled, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you like to visit?”

“What does it matter now? It’s not like I could go there anymore.”

“Just… humor me, Daryl.”

"Alright, alright.” He relented, tipping his head back and thinking about all of the places he used to read about when he was younger. “I think I'd like to go to Angkor Wat." Daryl mused after a long pause, tilting his head towards Castiel’s hand, prompting him to keep going.

"That’s a great choice. It’s absolutely beautiful, and it’s been so many things to so many people throughout the years... Although, I wouldn't hesitate to say it is one of the only world wonders that is more beautiful now than it was when it was first constructed.” Castiel leaned forward, resting his head against Daryl’s shoulder with a fond and distant look, “I remember seeing it when the last piece of the original buildings were set into the stone, and even then it was a masterful piece of architecture. But the most wonderful thing about it was to watch it  decay... for nature to reclaim it, to take a piece of art made by man and turn it into something only time could imagine. Though, the Hall of Echoes was always brilliant."

"What?"

Castiel pulled back with a start, the realization of what he had just said finally hitting him. “Oh, I mean, I remember _reading_ about the final construction of the first buildings, I mean, obviously I wasn’t there!” He laughed, but it wasn’t like his normal laugh. It was forced, and he was tense. “That would be impossible, and crazy, I wasn’t there.”

“No.” Daryl stated, staring at Castiel and taking in the sudden change of his demeanor. He might have just brushed this off at one point, but this wasn’t the first time that Castiel had alluded to being… different. Older than he appeared. He mentioned a few times his _mortal_ life (emphasis on mortal) and having seen things he had no business seeing. It was obvious when Cas lied, or fudged the truth a little because he was absolutely terrible at it. Really, he was the worst liar Daryl had ever met in his life. He would fidget and avert his gaze. His breathing would shift, and his sentence structure completely changed. And right then? He knew Castiel was lying. “You’re not telling me something, man. You know you’ve done this before right? You do it a lot, actually. You say something without thinking about it first, and then back pedal like a madman. And in my life, I’ve noticed that when someone does that, they were usually telling the truth the first time. So what is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But he did, it was written in the stubborn look on Castiel’s face. He knew he had been caught, and had switched gears once more.

“Yes, you do. What are you Cas?” Daryl moved out from under his legs, putting space between them once more and flattening himself out against the opposite door, regarding him coolly, “What are you? Are you a vampire? A demon? Would I be able to find you in this book?” He picked up the discarded journal and held it up purposely.

“Daryl, please.” Castiel sighed, dragging a hand down the good side of his face and shutting his eyes tight. Daryl felt a little guilty as he watched him curl in on himself, dragging his knees up to his chest and leaning across them, “I can’t talk about this. I promise you, I’m completely human. I’m wholly and pitifully human. So please, don’t make me talk about this. I will tell you anything else you want to know.”

Castiel, Daryl was beginning to realize, had this uncanny ability of completely diffusing him whenever he felt that a heated reaction was even the tiniest bit justified. He was determined to get to the bottom of this Cas mystery when he first started out, but seeing him sitting there, completely dejected and willing to answer all of the questions he was too uncomfortable to talk about just moments before… it had taken all of the fire out of him.

He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to frighten him, or distress him. Sure, he was burning with a frantic curiosity he couldn’t quite place, and Castiel’s admission of his humanity kind of rubbed him the wrong way, which probably should freak him out more. But all he felt in that moment was guilt.

With a long suffering sigh, he slid across the seat, inwardly flinching when Castiel moved away from him apprehensively, squishing himself even closer to the door. “I’m not going to ask you anything else,” he relented, resting an easy hand on top of Cas’ knee, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. It’s just… all of this shit, this monster shit, man it’s still taking some getting used to.” He slid his other hand between Castiel’s knees, guiding them apart and slipping between his thighs, smiling as Cas instinctively coiled them around his hips, “And one of these days I expect you’ll tell me the whole truth. But that doesn’t have to be today. It doesn’t have to be till you trust me, okay?”

“Daryl,” Cas whispered softly, raising a hand to his face and cupping his cheek, “I do trust you. It scares me, but I can’t help it, I do. And I promise one day I will tell you, it’s just… it’s not easy, for me. It’s still very new, very raw. And I just found you, I—” he broke off as he leaned his head forward, pressing their brows together and staring up at him through heavy lidded eyes, “I don’t want to scare you away.”

Daryl laughed out loud at that one, smiling cheekily as he pulled away, but not before grasping Castiel’s hips and taking him with him. With a startled, undignified yelp Cas was pulled down the door and laid out on the seat on his back, his thighs still loosely tangled around Daryl’s waist. Daryl licked his lips as he looked down at the man beneath him, his striking face still beautiful through the wounds he endured, all lean arms, strong legs and a ratty old Led Zeppelin tee shirt.

Cas’ shirt was rucked up from being pulled down the seat, and Daryl ran his fingers down the line of his trim, taut stomach, dipping along his ribs, the defined jut of his hips. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was never allowed to have this with a man before, or if it was all Castiel, but seeing him spread out for him, thighs tensing around him and staring up at him expectantly… he had never felt like this before in his life. So aroused that his erection strained almost painfully against the fabric of his sweats, just from running his hands absently against the other man’s bare skin, and yet so deeply content to just watch him. To stare down at Castiel and witness every minute he was willing to share with him.

It couldn’t be just anyone, he mused, sliding downward until his elbow held the brunt of his weight beside Cas’ head, his free hand tugging up his shirt, trailing the gentle slope in the centre of his chest, pausing at every bruise or blemish, and flitting sweetly over them before continuing upward to cup the back of his head. No, it had to be Castiel.

“If wendigo didn’t scare me away.” Daryl murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Cas’ throat, grinning against his skin as he felt his breath hitch.

“If the existence of vampires, ghosts and chupacabra’s didn’t scare me away.” Another kiss, this one on his chin.

“If learning how to trap a demon didn’t scare me away.” Castiel arched and moaned as Daryl sucked gently at his earlobe, releasing it with a gentle nip.

“Then Cas, _you_ are not gonna scare me away.”

Castiel surged upwards, his hands that had fallen limply to his sides fisting the lapels of Daryl’s borrowed shirt, pulling him forward as their lips met in a needful kiss.

Daryl groaned, his eyes clenching shut and body falling into Cas’, remembering to catch himself a little to avoid hurting him. He was still pretty banged up, it hadn’t even been a day… they had to be careful.

Cas didn’t seem to get that memo though, instead pawing desperately at Daryl’s chest, his hands sliding down his ribs, the sides of his stomach and looping around to his ass, pulling forward and grinding their hips together sharply. Their mouths broke apart as Daryl gasped, thrusting down against Castiel on instinct before pulling back, concerned.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Cas, you were really hurt. I know, back at the church we… but there’s not a lot of room in here, and I just want to make sure that you—”

“Daryl.” Castiel caught his chin in one hand, levelling their eyes, “If I need you to back off, I’ll tell you. In the meantime, just assume that I want you as bad as you want me, and stop asking stupid questions.” He smiled as he spoke, and with the hand on his chin he pulled Daryl’s lips against his once more, but this time they moved against each other slowly, languidly, tasting the mix of whiskey and marijuana on their tongues.

The rocked against each other gently, Castiel moving his hands to the small of Daryl’s back, guiding him forwards as he rocked upwards. Daryl could feel his thighs shaking, the muscles quivering as he thrust forward, slotting against each other and moaning wantonly into his mouth. He broke away, trailing nips and licks down the side of Castiel’s throat, along his collarbone, grumbling as the collar of his shirt impeded his progress.

He pulled back just enough to grip the hem of Cas’ shirt, rolling it upwards and guiding him into a sitting position he Cas suddenly curled his arms across his chest, stopping him. “I, I think I would rather leave this on, if that’s alright?” Castiel murmured so quietly, eyes downcast, that Daryl was scarcely sure he heard him.

He nodded his agreement and Cas instantly relaxed, falling back onto the seat as Daryl shimmied down his body, curling over into himself in the cramped back seat of the car and pushing the tee shirt as far up Castiel’s chest as he could while still covering his back. He was running on impulse when he dipped his tongue beneath Cas’ navel, and he was spurred on by his short and gasping breaths when he trailed his mouth along his abdomen, biting gently at the sharp peaks of his hips. He could stay down here forever, he thought, intoxicated by the noised Cas was making, his little squirms and shivers underneath his ministrations.

“Daryl, Daryl stop.” He started, pulling off of Castiel completely and looking down at him with such wide-eyed concern that Castiel huffed out a laugh before sitting up straight. “I’m okay,” he assured him amusedly, “I just want to do something, for you, if you could sit back against the door?”

He wasn’t about to argue, not when Cas was giving him that look again, softened by his kiss swollen lips and lust blown eyes, so he moved backwards until he felt the press of the door, and weakly protested as Castiel pulled up onto his knees and leaned into him. He silenced Daryl with a kiss before he could tell him to lie back down, that he was too hurt for this, and instead he parted his lips readily, sighing around Cas’ tongue as it swiped across his own.

His shirt was still securely on his shoulders, but the front thrown open wide, Castiel released his mouth and moved along his throat, nipping and kissing at his collarbone, the firm swell of his pecs, his ribs, lower and lower until Daryl’s hands tangled in his hair, anticipation thrumming through him and churning in his stomach. When Castiel slipped the waistband of his sweats down, freeing his erection, he gasped in relief, the steamy air of the car cool by comparison to the confines of his sweatpants.

It was strange. Not bad, nowhere near bad, just different, to have another man so close to his dick. There was a part of him, a very quiet yet nagging part that told him this shouldn’t turn him on so much. Saying the feeling Castiel’s stubble drag across the skin of his inner thigh shouldn’t have him panting, and that the gentle puffs of Cas’ breath against the most sensitive part of him shouldn’t have him pulsing against his stomach and grinding towards that mouth.

He groaned deeply as Castiel laid his head against his thigh and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, stroking languidly and staring intently as he worked, with a fascinating mix of calculation and intense arousal, eyes sharp like a wildcats. He watched Cas watch his hand, felt the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the hazy lust in his eyes, the gorgeous color rising to his cheeks. And he watched as Castiel moved suddenly, closing his mouth around the head of his cock and flattening his tongue against it.

It took everything Daryl had not to buck into that hot, wet mouth. If Castiel’s arm hadn’t been thrown across his hips and supporting the brunt of his weight he probably would have, his thighs tensing and toes curling as Cas opened his mouth wider and dropped lower, before hollowing his cheeks and pulling up at an achingly slow pace. His hand worked what his mouth couldn’t reach, and when Daryl managed to open his eyes and look down at him, a broken moan wrenched itself from his throat.

Cas looked absolutely immaculate like this, bruises and all. His hair was wild thanks to Daryl’s restless fingers carding and tugging through it, pulling stray hairs off of his face and tucking a loose curl behind his ear. His eyes were downcast, brow knotted in concentration as he dropped his head again, taking all that he could and groaning around a full mouth. There was a rosy blush staining Cas’ cheeks, spreading down his neck and across his collarbone, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed ineffectually, spit bubbling from the corner of his mouth and slipping down the side of Daryl’s shaft. The sight of his gorgeous lips, swollen and slick, wrapped tightly around him was almost too much for Daryl to handle, and he had to force himself to look away before this was over far too soon, tossing his head back at a particularly vigorous press of Castiel’s tongue, clenching his eyes shut as he panted audibly, chest heaving.

His head was swimming, Castiel’s ministrations expertly hurrying him along, and he hovered just briefly at the edge of orgasm, feeling it curl low in his stomach, pushing and pulling outwards along his thighs. He tightened his fingers in Cas’ hair. His back arched, hips fighting against the firm hold Castiel had on him, and he felt the car shifting gently, side to side.

He thought that he must be completely wasted as he felt the car rock back and forth. He was sitting so still, fighting back the urge to come, wanting to make this last, that it couldn’t possibly be him. He cracked his eyes open, looking down at Castiel over the tops of his cheeks, before choking down an embarrassing whine he didn’t know he was capable of even making. He wasn’t just hammered, and he watched as Castiel sucked him down, rolling his hips into the seat of the Impala and moaning around his cock. “He loves this,” he realized with a stuttering groan, “he’s getting off on this.” That thought alone would have been enough to push him over, and when Castiel looked up at him with those wide, dark eyes he couldn’t hold on any longer.

Daryl’s head lolled against his shoulder, and with a whimpering “Cas, _fuck_ , Cas—” he came hard, his hips thrusting upwards against the warmth of Castiel’s mouth, grinding forward as he spilled between his lips. He watched Castiel swallow thickly, his hips still grinding into the seat of the Impala as he released his cock, panting a faltering, desperate whine on each exhale. And as his eyes slipped closed he felt the exact moment Castiel came, his hips stilling and his mouth slack as he moaned, pressing his forehead into Daryl’s hip.

Every muscle lax, Daryl sunk down into the seat with a full body exhale, his hands finally freeing Castiel’s hair and moving to grasp at his arms, guiding him up the length of his body to lay against his chest. With a slow, sated smile Castiel leaned against him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before resting his head in the juncture of his neck.

They had this wonderful ability to make any silence completely and utterly bearable. Daryl couldn’t remember a time in his life where he was so comfortable with quiet, he mused as he stroked his fingers carefully across Castiel’s collarbone, not even when he was alone in the woods. When it was quiet, it meant there was something wrong, a calm before the shit storm that was bound to erupt at any second. But with Cas, that never happened. They could share the same space without saying a word, and he would be completely at peace, not needing anything to comfort him but the gentle sounds of the other persons breathing.

“Can I tell you something?” Castiel spoke softly, echoing through the emptiness of the car and barely audible over the spattering of rain on the hood.

Daryl turned his head towards him, pressing his lips to his forehead but nothing more, just breathing deeply for a moment before nodding his assent.

“I feel… entirely captivated by you.”

Sputtering a laugh, Daryl rolled on to his side, inelegantly depositing Cas onto the bench beside him as he did so. It was a tight squeeze, especially for two fully grown men but he made it work, pulling Castiel’s body flush to his own, chest to chest and held his face between his hands. “You’re also feeling incredibly stoned.” He stated candidly, brushing his lips against the tip of Cas’ nose, charmed by the smile that spread across his face. 

“How could you tell?” Cas quipped, reaching into his back pocket and fishing out his pack of cigarettes.

“Just a hunch,” he replied as he ran his thumb along the cleft of Cas’ chin, “and sure, help yourself.”

He did, without a word in his defense. Cas lit his pilfered smoke and tucked the pack back into Daryl’s pocket, letting his fingers drag along the waist of his pants as he drew his hand back, inhaling deeply before depositing the cigarette between Daryl’s lips. They didn’t speak much, there wasn’t much to say, and as the rain pounded the street around them they passed the smoke back and forth in silence, until Daryl couldn’t help himself any longer.

Running his fingers along the line of Castiel’s jaw, he tilted his head backwards and looked at him deeply. He looked tired but content, with his lazy smile and half lidded eyes, and Daryl couldn’t help but cover those lips with his own, pleased when they parted willingly, letting him take what he could. It was always hard to pull away from him, Daryl speculated, closing his eyes and he leaned their foreheads together. Castiel was always warm, always pliant. He was all open arms and soft touches, long legged and malleable and Daryl felt like every time he had to move away, to put distance between them that he was leaving somewhere safe.

God, what had happened to him in just one night?

“You aren’t a witch, are you?” Daryl whispered softly, looking into his lovers eyes and breathing deeply. Castiel smelled like rain, like the forest, interspersed with sex and weed. He was intoxicating.

“No.” Cas answered a little too adamantly, pulling a disgusted face and looking at Daryl like he’d just insulted his mother, “Witches are repulsive. They’re always hacking off body parts and spewing… fluids. It’s atrocious.” He huffed, and took another long drag of his cigarette, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m… I’m also entirely captivated by you.” Daryl admitted on a shaking breath, his heart hammering in his throat so suddenly, “And I can’t make sense of it, it’s happened so quickly.”

Castiel hummed and closed his eyes, handing the burnt out smoke to Daryl and burying his head into the crook of shoulder. “You’re thinking too hard,” he yawned, flicking off the lantern as he settled in, squirming like a puppy as he tried to get comfortable, all knees and wild elbows that knocked at Daryl’s side as he attempted to butt out the cigarette, “Don’t.”

But he couldn’t not think about it. About how in a day the course of their already very recent friendship had completely changed, was totally derailed. And he couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like back at the quarry. Could they even do this at the quarry?

Just the thought of it sent his skin prickling, and he held Castiel tighter as he tried to force himself to sleep. There were people at the camp who were already looking for any excuse to get him out, thinking he was an asshole, a liability… all the things Rick had said about his brother, and alright, fair enough, he did nothing to make them think otherwise. But he weren’t trying to hurt them, or fuck ‘em over, not anymore. No matter how he acted, he would always be willing to help. He didn’t want any of them dead.

But did they understand that? Hell no. And what kind of people were they even? They seemed like a bunch of bleeding heart, ‘progressive’ liberals, at least some of them did. But then there were others that reminded him too much of his family, too red-blooded all-American and what might they do to him if they found out he was fooling around with Cas?

What would they do to Cas?

The thought shot through him like a thousand volts of unadulterated fear. Castiel grumbled, half asleep as his fingers dug deeply into his back and he forced himself to take a deep breath, to relax. But even when Cas settled back down, his head buried against his chest, Daryl’s heart still ran wild, beating and pounding as he remembered all of the shit that used to be shouted across his living room, between his father and brother, their friends, hell even _himself_ when he needed to fit in. All the threats and snide comments, the depreciations and explosive hatred the people he grew up around and socialized with said to and about anyone that wasn’t white, straight and just like them.

He didn’t think anyone back at the quarry would go as far as they would, but he didn’t really know, did he? You never really knew what someone was capable of, especially when you start messing around with what they believe in, or start making them uncomfortable. And in such close quarters, under such stressful circumstances…

He pulled back a little, his breathing pretty much under control and looked down at Castiel, barely visible in the thin beams of moonlight that faded in through their covered windows. He was out like a light, his eyelashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks, his lips pursed and forehead creased. Daryl brushed the hair back from his brow, amused that he still looked so serious even while he slept, and as he watched him he took in the angry looking bruises, the gouges, cuts and swelling that marred his face, and a frown tugged at his lips, that increasingly familiar protectiveness swelling deep in his stomach.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Daryl decided, he couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t his job, and he knew it wasn’t his place, but Castiel just felt… precious. Important. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t explain any of this, not rationally but he felt it in his gut. Cas had something important to do, a role to play somewhere, somehow and Daryl? Daryl needed to get him there.

“Hey.”

Castiel’s voice rang soft through the silence, left behind in the wake of the storm and Daryl felt his cool, forgiving fingers run gently along his temple. “Sorry,” he whispered gruffly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Is everything okay?” Cas asked, gently scraping his fingernails through his hair, against his scalp, “You’re thinking so loudly.”

“Yeah, everything…” Daryl stopped himself with a sigh, curling tighter against Cas and dropping his head against his shoulder, “Actually, no. I can’t shut it off, but it ain’t the first time. It’s pretty routine, actually.”

Castiel nodded solemnly, studying him in the dark before pushing at his shoulder, attempting to roll him on his back. Daryl sputtered bewilderedly, but Cas just rolled his eyes.  “Come on,” he said quietly, “roll over so your back is to me, okay?”

When Daryl reluctantly complied, he was instantly pulled back against Castiel’s chest, his back slotting up against him perfectly as Cas wrapped a sleep weakened arm around his waist. He felt defenseless, too exposed and uncomfortable, and just as he was going to sit up and out of this stupid position he felt Castiel’s warm, slow breathing puff against his neck. His hand sliding under his shirt, he began delicately tracing nonsensical patterns onto his stomach, little loops, twists and turns, with no rhyme or reason. It was hypnotic, and Daryl felt himself relaxing against his hold.

“I’ll stay awake, okay?” Castiel murmured against his shoulder, kissing him through the flannel of his shirt, “I’ll stay awake, until you fall asleep.” As if anticipating his refusal, Castiel nipped gently at the side of his neck before brushing his lips against him softly in apology, “You did it for me. Let me pay you back.”

There was no room for argument, and with the spellbinding sweeps of Castiel’s hand on his stomach, his soothing breath on his neck, there was no room for though either. He would have been amazed, but that would have required more energy than he currently possessed, and miraculously he slept a dreamless sleep, for the first time in a very long time.


	8. Highway I-75 and Martha Berry Highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are the best, I love hearing from you! And I appreciate the kind words and the kudos! This chapter's gonna start off sweet and smutty, but watch out for the homophobic slurs and IHP near the end. 
> 
> Thanks, enjoy!

 

It had been a long time since he’d woken up in someone else’s arms, and didn’t feel guilty about it. It had been even longer since he’d woken up after a night like that without feeling ashamed. But when the early morning sun started to peek through the fabric covering the windows, Castiel felt nothing but cautious affection for the man sleeping underneath him.

He knew not to get his hopes up, at least logically he did, however he couldn’t help the rush of fondness that swept through him as he lay half sprawled on top of Daryl, his leg thrown haphazardly across his thighs, his arm wrapped around his waist and his head on his chest. He was curled up tight to his side, the backseat of the Impala not made for the length and width of two fully grown men, but he was comfortable, his head rising and falling with each steady breath Daryl took. It was nice, a quiet intimacy that he had never really known, all of his earlier trysts being detached and hurried, purely physical with little room for closeness. The only experiences that were akin to this were his nights with Dean… and while those were passionate, they didn’t last and they always ended up hurting both of them more than they helped.

No, this was different, Castiel mused as he ran his fingers through the trail of hair along Daryl’s abdomen. This was comfortable, still sensual but amiable too, and he was astounded to realise that during his induction to human sexuality, he had never experienced _this_. This right here, this feeling of familiarity and comfort, this trust, was better than any orgasm he had ever experienced, and his mind reeled with sudden awareness, that maybe sex… wasn’t just about the act of having sex. Maybe it was about this commitment between them, to open yourself completely and have your partner do the same, immersed in the heartening understanding that in this space you were safe, and desired, and prized.

He smiled and turned his head into his lover’s side, as Daryl’s hand reached up to capture his own, twining their fingers together as they rest upon his stomach. He felt the chest underneath him rumble with sleep as he murmured a fond good morning, Daryl’s other hand sweeping up his side, across his shoulder and neck, tangling in his hair. “How did you sleep?” he enquired, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair, trying half-heartedly to tame the bird’s nest it had become.

“Well, my back might disagree, but I think that was the best sleep I’ve ever had in this car.” Cas spoke softly, stretching out languidly before nuzzling further into Daryl’s side. He felt Daryl’s laughter more than he heard it, and reluctantly he lifted his head, freeing his hand from under his side and flattening it against Daryl’s chest. Resting his chin atop his hand, he couldn’t help but grin at the look of barefaced adoration on Daryl’s face, wholeheartedly knowing he looked the same. “What’s so funny?” he teased gently, blushing and that silly grin growing wider.

“You are.” Daryl had released his hand, and was now lying half on his back, half on his side, the arm not wrapped around Castiel’s shoulder crooked at the elbow, hand behind his neck and pillowing his head. His hair was a mess, tangled and ratty, sticking up at odd angles and clinging to his forehead with a thin sheen of cooling sweat. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and while he blinked blearily as he tried to wake, his stare was still mesmerizing, trailing up and down the length of Castiel’s body, quickening his pulse and warming his cheeks at its boldness. He was looking at him with a fond smile, the antithesis of the sardonic quirk of his lips that passed for a smile outside of this space, a few days stubble sparse across his cheeks and down his neck, leading the eye to the trail of faint bruises, love bites, along his collarbone. “You’re like a cat,” Daryl explained, though it wasn’t much of one and only managed to confuse him.

“I fail to see how I’m like a feline.” Castiel quirked his head to the side, brows furrowed as he looked up at Daryl, “I’m not even of the same species.”

“No, just—” he cut himself off with a sharp laugh, loud in the confines of the backseat and surprising the both of them, “It’s just that, when you stretch out like that… it’s graceful. Starts from the tips of your fingers and moves down to your toes, very fluid, y’know? Like a cat.”

Cas hummed quietly, still not quiet getting it, but not bothered enough by the strange comparison to keep asking questions. He slid his knee in between Daryl’s thighs, nudging outward and he spread his legs wider in response. Castiel rolled forward, into the newfound space, slotting his hips against Daryl’s inner thighs, content with the hiss he elicited as his stomach pressed firmly against his lover’s erection, trapping it between the two of them.

Daryl’s shirt was still thrown wide, not having bothered buttoning it the night before, and Castiel couldn’t help but duck down and lave his tongue against his stomach, following the firm line of his abdomen up from his navel to the centre of his chest. Daryl gasped in response, the muscles of his stomach trembling under his skin, drawn taut for a quick moment before relaxing, and he groaned softly as Cas began to press soft, sweet kisses to his chest, pulling himself up on his elbows and trailing them along his neck, his cheek. Daryl turned his face suddenly, capturing Castiel’s lips with his own, the hand that was resting behind his head now grasping the nape of Cas’ neck, pulling him into his body with a sudden and desperate need, while the other held firmly to his waist.

Castiel had never felt this desired before, and it warmed him in ways he never thought he could. The way Daryl touched him, his fingers pawing and needy, clinging urgently to his slighter frame and pressing insistently into his skin, sent a thrill of exhilaration singing through him. The slightest touch from Cas’ hands along his arm, his tongue sliding alongside Daryl’s as their mouths moved together, everything seemed to set him on fire, reducing him to a quivering mass of primal urges that moaned into him, hips shuddering and thrusting upwards against the tender flesh of Castiel’s stomach and thighs shaking in a failing effort to control himself.

Cas was used to subjugation, after all it was what he was made for. Whether he was serving God, man, or the Winchester’s didn’t matter, as long as he served. When he was an angel it was what he lived for, and without it he felt lost. Even in pursuit of freedom and choice, he still couldn’t silence the voice in his head that asked for orders and direction, that couldn’t fathom existing without supplication. When he fell, it was the first time in his life that he felt the biting disdain of servitude. When he obeyed an order from Dean without hesitation, because that was just what he did, he despised it. When he let another survivor use him, because it was the only way to get what he urgently needed, he felt sick. How he lived like this, he often wondered. It was horrible… and even though he hated it, he couldn’t stop. He would always back down, always relent, and always give every part of himself that was asked for because he knew no other way. He was a slave, a servant by blood and if he wanted to escape it he had to change himself to the very core.

So this new beginning, with a new group and a new purpose, it wasn’t just a way to redeem himself in the face of his Holy Father, to atone for his transgressions by living a human life, with all of its human trappings and faults. It was a way to change himself to the core. Castiel the angel had failed: he had loosed Lucifer upon the world and sentenced humanity to death, falling in every conceivable way. But Castiel the human? He could make up for all of that. He could help those still surviving on this dying earth, he attempt to protect and guide them through a world that was no longer theirs. He could help them to thrive. And to do so, he had to become a new person. It wouldn’t do to be Castiel the servant, nor could he be Castiel the wastrel any longer, no he had to let go… he had to shape up.

He promised himself, upon waking in the cab of that RV that he would not be a servant to anyone, ever again.

But here… watching this man come undone beneath his hands, writhing and grasping at the barest hint of skin on skin, at the most minute touch of their lips, he felt powerful. He was doing this, he was taking Daryl apart piece by piece, and he couldn’t help but wonder at what that felt like. What it would be like to give himself over, one more time, to entrust himself to this man’s willing and practiced hands, and bind himself, this time of his _own_ volition, to another. To someone he cared for and trusted to care back? To understand that he was letting himself give in, that he was allowing Daryl to take him. And it ached that he wanted that, more than anything.

“Hey,” Daryl’s breathless whisper broke through his thoughts, his hand supple against his cheek, running a thumb comfortingly across the thin skin beneath his uninjured eye, “where’d you go?”

“I’m here,” Castiel smiled softly, rolling and reversing their positions, pulling Daryl on top of him to rest between his spread thighs, gasping and their hips ground together, “I’m h-here, please Daryl, I need…” But what did he need? How could he even explain what he was thinking, where would he begin?

It seemed he didn’t have to. As if he read his mind, Daryl’s lips were once again upon him, his hands gripping and rubbing down the length of his upper arms to his chest. His lips were firmer this time, less drowsy, more insistent as Daryl’s hips moved against his own, rolling down into the cradle of his thighs as he thrust upwards to meet him. His muscles clenched and Cas moaned into their kiss at the firm press of his body above him, chests flattened against each other, Daryl’s arms bracketing his head.

“I haven’t, Cas I’ve never…” Daryl broke away for a moment, his eyes downcast and his chest heaving, “I’ve never done anything like this, with a guy before. Only what we’ve done together, and I really don’t—” His voice cracked around a groan, his hips quaking as Castiel popped open the buttons of his fly. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed breathlessly, watching with rapt attention as Cas pulled him from the confine of his jeans, screwing his eyes shut as Cas wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock, wrenching a broken “Castiel!” from his kiss-swollen lips.

Daryl thrust forward into his firm grip, panting above him as he rested his forehead against Castiel’s. His eyes were tightly shut, brow knotted as his mouth hung slack, panting for air as if he were starved for it. “Look at me,” Castiel whispered, his eyes trained on his face, scanning every twitch and shift in his expression, “look at me, and just do whatever you feel is right. Trust me to stop you if I’m uncomfortable.”

Slowly, Daryl opened his eyes and met Cas’ gaze, icy blue and hooded, hazy with the last vestiges of sleep and arousal. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he schooled his breathing, but his hips never stopped moving, working like pistons as he fucked Castiel’s hand with abandon. The noises escaping him were husky, animalistic murmurs interspersed with a reverent chorus of “Cas” and a low rumble deep in his throat. Arousal shot like fire through Cas’ veins at the sound of his name in that rough voice, and with a desperate, wanton moan he fumbled at his own fly, lifting his hips and hurriedly shimmying his jeans past his hips.

The sight of him falling apart against the worn leather seat of the Impala seemed to rocket Daryl into action. Castiel gasped out his name as Daryl knocked his hand away from his cock, palming him firmly through his boxers before shoving them out of the way and running his fingers along the length of him. The hand that had been curled loosely next to his temple moved to cup his face, Daryl’s thumb stroking affectionately along the high curve of his cheekbone, fingers running through the thick curls of hair behind his ears.

Licking a long, wet stripe along his free palm, Daryl reached between them once more, taking both of them in hand and stroking firmly. The feel of them pressed together, thick and heavy had Castiel’s back arching, his head thrown back against the seat as his toes curled tight. “Oh fuck, Daryl…” He whimpered, forehead pressed firmly against his own, eyes shrouded but his gaze piercing, breathing against each other. His hips were surging into each stroke of Daryl’s fist, working against one another, slip sliding and spit slick, and when Daryl ran his thumb over the head of his cock he sobbed at the feeling, a telltale warmth that pooled low in his stomach, tingling down his inner thighs and radiating in waves through his limbs.

Castiel’s hands gripped tightly to Daryl’s shoulders, pawing urgently as he keened, writhing underneath him. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this. Not while Daryl was looking at him like this, sharing his same air, bearing into him and stroking him perfectly, pulling them both closer and closer to that same precipice, promising to jump with him in his arms.

“Come on, Cas,” Daryl purred, capturing his lips in a deceptively chaste kiss, “Come on darlin’, I’ve got you.” He spoke quietly, his voice deep and rasping as he gripped him tighter. Daryl was groaning deeply in his throat, his hand speeding up and his movements becoming more erratic, but when he kissed Castiel he was so gentle and tender it shook him to his core, “Castiel—oh God, Cas!”

It was enough, the sound of his name, chanted like a prayer on his lips and Cas was sent hurtling over the edge, his hips bucking into Daryl’s fist as he came with a strangled cry, his cock pulsing and leaving him heaving, slumped backwards against the seat. He was shaking, synapses firing as his orgasm washed over him, leaving him weakly clinging to Daryl’s shoulders and feeling his come seep into the fabric of his tee-shirt.

His head knocked back against the door as his muscles turned to mush, and with the last vestiges of his strength he curled his fingers around the lapels of Daryl’s sleeveless button-down, hanging open and draped across his back and pulled down, capturing his lips in an eager, roiling kiss.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Daryl groaned, releasing their cocks and dropping back down to his forearms, cradling the back of Castiel’s head in his hands as he lowered his hips, grinding his still hard cock into the juncture of Cas’ thigh, leaking pre-come and smearing the mess of Castiel’s own come across his skin. “Castiel, you’re gorgeous, your voice, y-your face you—” He gasps, cutting himself off as Castiel wrapped his hand around him, taking up the same maddening motions Daryl had used to bring him to completion.

Daryl’s lips slid against his and Castiel kissed him back hungrily, taking in the view of Daryl rocking above him, his bare chest glistening with sweat and streaked with come, tense and solid. Castiel quickened his pace, rubbing his thumb over the tip and felt Daryl groan against his mouth, a rough “Cas, oh fuck, Cas—” and then he was coming, hips pressing into Castiel’s fist, soaking his skin and shirt once more.

They were both a mess, a shaking and panting mess of half clothed bodies slick with sweat and come in the backseat of a stolen car, and Castiel couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh at how uncomfortable he was, so suddenly.

“You sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego.” Daryl muttered drolly, but when he lifted his head from the crook of Castiel’s neck he was smiling, “What’s so funny now?”

“My thigh is cramping and I hit my head off of the door, and I think I’m going to have to throw out this shirt.” Daryl chuckled against his cheek, planting rows of sweet little kisses from the corner of his mouth to his temple, before rolling off of him and onto his side, shifting Cas so he was lying facing him, “But that was…”

“Incredible.”

“Really intimate.”

Daryl pulled Castiel closer, resting his chin on top of his head as he carded his fingers through the softly curling hairs at the base of his neck, “Really, Cas when I said I’ve never done anything with another guy before, I meant it. I ain’t even kissed another man, I didn’t even let myself think about it, but with you…” He paused, letting go of a long, deep breath before continuing, “With you, it’s _all_ I can think about. I can’t turn it off, every time I look at you, really look at you. Cas, I can’t stop wanting you.”

Castiel fisted his hands in the back of Daryl’s shirt and buried his head in the crook of his neck. Inhaling deeply, he soothed himself in his scent, a mix of perspiration and sex and wilderness, “This is the first time in my life I’ve woken up the morning after having sex with someone, and haven’t felt guilty about it.” He could feel the steady beat of Daryl’s heart beneath his cheek, “And definitely the first time I’ve done it again that same morning. So I get it, I do. Because this does, you know, feel right.”

“I thought I’d feel more ashamed.” Daryl confessed, and when Castiel raised his head to look at him he was watching out the window, past a crack in their makeshift curtain, “That I was doing something wrong, like I was sick or somethin’. But I think that’s more my old man talking than anything else.”

“He wasn’t very kind, was he? Your father?”

Daryl coughed out a spiteful laugh, and Castiel immediately decided he hated his dad, without needing to hear anymore, “No, he wasn’t _kind_. He was a nasty, racist, bigoted asshole. But even though I know the kind of person he was, and that what he thought and said weren’t quite right…”

“If you hear it often enough, and loud enough, it starts to stick.”

“Right.”

“But that doesn’t apply to me?”

“Don’t appear so.”

“Well, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Cas smiled, tilting his head upwards and kissing Daryl’s chin, the line of his jaw, “If it works for you, I think it’s pretty obvious it’s working for me.” With a grin, Daryl ducked down, sliding his hand down the nape of Castiel’s neck to the small of his back, nipping at his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and rolling it gently between his teeth. Moaning, Cas reluctantly pulled away, sitting up and stretching his aching legs, “Come on we have to get up. If we keep going at this rate we’re never going to get back to the quarry… and we’ll also probably starve.”

With a disappointed groan and a weak attempt at hauling him back down, Daryl relented, shifting to sit on the opposite end of the bench. He reached down and started to button his shirt, belatedly noticing the streaks of drying come on his stomach and chest, and pulling a face.

“Here,” Cas held his soiled shirt out to him with a bemused look, “It’s pretty much ruined anyways.”

He accepted the shirt, and he went to work cleaning his chest, but Daryl didn’t look away from Castiel. His face turned dark red, a crimson flush spreading across his cheeks from the tip of his nose, and he gulped audibly. Daryl’s eyes ran the length of Cas’ body, skimming over the dips and valleys of his chest, his stomach, the curve of his waist and long lines of his shoulders, completely glossing over the unsightly bruises and Castiel squirmed under his scrutiny, belatedly realizing that Daryl had never seen him this naked before, and suddenly very aware of his scars. He flattened his back against the car door, his marred shoulders rustling the improvised drapes, and in an instant recognition replaced the heavy, aroused gaze Daryl was levelling him with.

“Sorry.” Daryl averted his eyes, focusing instead on the task of cleaning himself up (thankfully he didn’t mention what he was sorry for) and Castiel sat very still, his back ramrod straight as he tried to come up with a way to reach his bag, which was next to Daryl’s feet, without moving from his position. But in his next moments, after he had buttoned his shirt and tucked himself back into his jeans, Daryl reached into Cas’ bag and fished out a clean shirt, handing it over without looking at him, and Castiel’s heart thudded against his ribs, swelling with affection and gratitude.

How was it possible that this strange, gruff man was the first human to ever show him such unconditional kindness?

He smiled shyly as Daryl turned his back, rifling through his own stuff but ultimately giving Cas some privacy while he dressed. With a clean shirt covering his mutilated back and his confidence restored, he slid up behind Daryl and wrapped his arms around his waist, his chest pressed to the warmth of his lover’s back, and absently whispered “thank you” in Enochian.

“It’s no big deal,” Daryl responded, clasping a hand over Cas’ as the rested against his chest, leaning back into his gentle hold for only a moment, before pulling away and kicking open the back door of the Impala. He cried out in relief when he felt a cool breeze against his skin, the rain from last night having broken the shroud of humidity that had plagued their journey so far. “Cas get out here, its fucking beautiful!” He shouted from down the road, walking with his arms outstretched, revelling in the early morning wind.

He wasn’t wrong, and Castiel sighed happily as he crawled out of the car, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. The cool gusts of wind chilled the sweat that clinged to him, and he could smell the rain soaked earth. There were still clouds in the sky, and it was surely going to rain again but they looked nowhere near as ominous as the ones last night. Still, Cas thought, they should get the Impala on the truck and head back as soon as they could… the roads they would have to take back to the quarry were mostly dirt and gravel, and knowing their luck they would end up stuck in the mud.

Castiel wasn’t much help, but he tried to do what he could and soon they had the Impala on the truck, sandwiching Merle’s bike with the cab. It wasn’t all that secure, but it would have to do and besides, Daryl was already beat. Between the exertion of loading the vehicles and their early morning activities, he was exhausted by the time he slid behind the wheel of the truck. Feeling guilty, Cas slung his arm across the back of the seat, playing with the thin hair at the nape of Daryl’s neck and passing him an uncapped bottle of water with the other.

“Thank you,” Daryl breathed with appreciation, closing his eyes and leaning back into his touch. Honestly, he thought with no shortage of amusement, he should know better. Daryl seemed completely insatiable around him now, it only took the slightest touch to send him reeling, and Castiel wasn’t any better. He pulled his hand away, tore his gaze from the hypnotic bobbing of Daryl’s throat as he gulped mouthfuls of tepid water and forced himself to look at the road in front of them.

“We should get going,” he explained as Daryl handed the bottle back to him, “if we want to get back to the quarry before dark.”

Daryl didn’t speak, only nodded as he turned the key and the truck roared to life. He was pensive, silent but not his usual silence as they drove down the I-75, veering off the exit ramp on their way to Martha Berry Highway. He was immersed in thought, his eyes scanning the road but his mind elsewhere, and Castiel could feel the mounting tension as he dug himself deeper and deeper.

After about twenty minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s on your mind?” He broached cautiously, sparing Daryl a glance from the corner of his eye.

With a grunt and a shrug, Daryl released his bottom lip, which he had been worrying relentlessly since they started driving. “I was just thinkin’…” he trailed off, flexing both hands on the wheel, “Should we even go back there?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel was floored. Why wouldn’t they go back? There at least they had relative safety, food and comfort, and besides there were people there waiting for them. Children, some elderly, whole families with little to no survival skills who were depending on them for protection, to bring back the food, medicine and weapons he had promised. “Daryl, we need to go back. They need us there.”

“Do they, though?” He countered, “They have Rick, and Shane. Those two are pretty formidable when they aren’t at each other’s throats. T-Dog can fight too, Glenn is good at finding food. What good are we? I catch squirrels, you do laundry and watch children.”

“Hey, you do more than just catch squirrels. You provide for them, without you they wouldn’t eat!” Castiel had no idea where he was going with this. He had never brought up wanting to leave before, “And those kids are hard to watch! They’re completely incapable of staying still and ask the most inane questions, I never have any idea if they are being serious or not.”

That brought a smile to Daryl’s face at least, a fond little far-away thing. “They’re almost always fucking with you, but that’s ‘cause they like you. You’re very literal.” He sighed, “And you’re right, we do need to go back. I guess I just thought that things might be better on our own. These past few days, cannibal monsters aside have been really, really nice and if we go back…”

“Daryl, nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.” He spoke softly, not understanding where this sudden discomfort was coming from, but hating the way it had wormed itself around inside of Daryl’s head.

“I know,” Daryl shook his head sharply, shooting Cas a sideways smile and turning his full attention back to the road. “Forget I said anything. Do you think we should stop in there, see what they got left?”

Cas could have sworn he got whiplash from how fast that conversation turned around, looking out the passenger window at the pharmacy Daryl had gestured to. The subject had obviously been dropped, even though it coiled uneasily in his stomach, and Cas shrugged in response. It couldn’t hurt.

Outside of Trion, after they stopped the truck and cleared the pharmacy, Castiel couldn’t shake that disquieting feeling that had settled over him. Daryl was almost back to himself now, dispatching Croats with ease and piling whatever he thought they might need into his pack, but Cas still caught hints of tension ever now and again. He could see it in his shoulders as he hunched around the store and when he thought Castiel wasn’t looking he would worry his thumbnail between his teeth, a faraway look in his eye and a grimness to his face. But suddenly he would snap back to it, like when he started tossing candies and sodas into his bag for the kids, or when he emptied an entire shelf of Astroglide into Castiel’s backpack, laughing at his indignant expression before kissing it away. And in those moments Cas would admonish himself, tell himself to relax, that everything was fine even though he could feel in his gut that something was amiss. There was nothing to be done anyways.

Looking back, he really should have listened to his gut.

 

* * *

 

 

They reached the quarry in the early evening, pulling the truck up the hill and attracting the attention of everyone in the camp. Before they even made it out of the cab there was a host of faces littering the ground below them, and as Daryl rounded the truck to the passenger side, set to help Castiel down, Rick was already on him, a bemused look on his face as he asked what the hell they were doing with a tow truck.

Daryl didn’t answer, he didn’t have to as Castiel opened the door and let himself be helped onto the ground. The second he was in view of their audience a chorus of worried gasps and expletives rang out amongst them, Rick surging forward to help him down onto his feet as well.

“What the hell happened to you?” Rick demanded, taking stock of Castiel’s grievous injuries and his bruise mottled face.

“We had an accident.” He muttered, leaning up against the side of the truck as Dale and Daryl began lowering the car and the bike. He heard Dale asking if he could loot the truck for parts, and Daryl’s answering grunt made him smile softly. “There was a whole herd of walkers, and when we came up over a hill just before Chatsworth we almost ran into them. There were thousands, and it took us by surprise. I got my foot pinned beneath the bike, and Daryl got tossed across the asphalt.”

Rick was planted firmly in his space, holding him up by his shoulder and while he wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, it was nice that he was concerned. “No way you ended up like this just from a motorcycle crash Cas. I- is that a claw mark?”

Cas knew where he was pointing, the five large slashes across his jaw, and he floundered a little. “Um, uh yeah, you see after we were surrounded by walkers, and there was nowhere to go but up this forest path into the mountains. We uh, we found this old chapel and we thought we’d stay there for the night but we were, I mean, there was a—”

“He got himself attacked by a bear.” Daryl to the rescue. Castiel softly released a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Daryl expertly lied for him. He couldn’t tell them it was a wendigo, they’d think he was completely insane. But he wasn’t much of a liar either, as Daryl had so kindly explained the other night, and he was grateful to him for taking up the mantle.

“A bear… a bear, are you serious?” Rick was darting his attention back and forth between Cas and Daryl, ruminating. He waved at the dwindling audience of people behind him, shooing them off and pulling in close, “How the hell did you manage that? And how far away from the camp were you? Do we have to worry about them here?”

“No, we were almost into Tennessee when the herd stopped us.” Daryl drawled, hiking his bow further up his shoulder as he spoke, “Big ol’ black bear, and Castiel here apparently has never heard of a bear before, ‘cause he tried to take off running. Thing beat the shit out of him before I managed to track him and shoot it down.”

“I’m fine though, really it was a good thing Daryl got to me when he did, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here, but he did and I am.” He smiled over at Daryl, who was adamantly looking away from him, flushing at his praise, “We couldn’t ride the bike though, and neither of us was in any condition to ride it, so we commandeered this thing.” He gave two firm pats against the white metal exterior of the cab and started walking down the hill, towards the Impala, “And we managed to get the car back with it.”

“Was everything still there?” Rick asked, following him closely with hands outstretched, making sure he wasn’t going to fall.

Castiel nodded, “Everything, honestly I was surprised. All of the weapons, the medicine and even the food. Plus we found a pharmacy on the way back that had a decent amount of stuff in it still. We took what we thought we needed.” He popped the trunk, pulling out a duffel bag of miscellaneous knives, swords and machetes, handing it to Rick who stared at the proffered bag with wide eyes, “We have firearms in here too, not as many but a few sawed offs, pistols and a rifle.”

With a look of gratitude, Rick took the bag from his hands, clapping a palm against Castiel’s shoulder, cringing in apology as he winced, and Daryl took a defensive step forward before he could stop himself. If Rick noticed, he didn’t mention it. “Castiel, Daryl seriously we owe you. You’ve done this group a real service.” He smiled at them, pulling the duffle bag over his shoulder and starting back up the trail, “Anything you two need from now on, please just let me know. Really, we’re very grateful.”

As he walked away up the hill, Castiel smiled fondly, turning back to Daryl who was already rummaging through the trunk. “Well, that went well.” He spoke softly, grabbing his blue backpack and another duffel, “See, it was a good thing we came back here. They really need our help.”

At his silence, Castiel leaned over, sidling up against Daryl and slipping an arm around his waist. Or at least, that’s what he tried to do. Instead, the second his hand merely brushed the small of his back, Daryl jumped at the contact. Swinging an arm back he flung Castiel’s hand from his back like it was on fire, taking a few forceful steps back and putting a good three feet between them. He was still staring at the trunk, a bag in hand but he had the same apprehensive expression on his face that he wore in the pharmacy. He refused to even look at Castiel, even as he shut the trunk with more force than was necessary, and stalked off up the hill without a word.

What was that about, Castiel wondered, that horrible anxious feeling squirming around in his stomach once again. Was it something he had said? Maybe he wasn’t prepared for Ricks praise? Confused and trying not to let himself be hurt, Cas trudged up the hill behind him, staggering on his bad foot.

“Jeez, Cas! Here, let me help you.”

Lori, he reminded himself, her name is Lori. Rick’s wife.

Lori grabbed his arm with her thin, gentle hands, looping it around her shoulder and trying her hardest to take the brunt of his weight off his injured foot. He looked down at her, and with a sheepish smile he readjusted, grateful for her help as they moved slowly up the hill. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes downcast, but she just waved it off.

“I can’t believe Rick would leave you stranded down there in this condition, honestly.” She huffed, shaking her head in disbelief, “You’re barely standing, how he expected you to get up to the camp on your own is just beyond me. I swear, he can be so inattentive sometimes.”

“No, no it wasn’t Rick,” Castiel interjected, and they paused briefly, giving him a bit of a break on their steady climb up the hill, “It wasn’t his fault I mean, Daryl was down there with me, when he left, I think he assumed Daryl would help me up, but he—”

A look of recognition crossed her pretty face, and she sneered. “Yeah, he’ll do that.” They were making progress, however slow up the hill and he could just see the beginnings of a fire in the fading light. “He can be a real asshole that one, but he’s a great deal better than his brother, that’s for damn sure.” She was staring up ahead as she spoke, studying their path dutifully and with care, her expression was clearly derisive, “Most of us were shocked he even agreed to go with you at all. He ain’t exactly the most helpful sort, you see. I mean sure, he’ll catch rabbits and squirrels, but he doesn’t do anything else to help around the camp, and when Merle was around he was even worse.”

“He seems like he’s had a fairly hard life,” Cas spoke softly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye and seeing her flinch at his words, “and I don’t think he means to be such a dick at times. That kind of reaction if learned, you know? And it’s hard to unlearn.”

Lori bit her lip, shaking her head slightly and not meeting his eye, “Who hasn’t had a hard life? Besides, the world is changing. If we can’t get along, it’s not as if we can just get up and go somewhere else. We’re stuck together now, the stakes are higher, and by being a selfish prick he could get me and my family hurt.” She ended with confidence, a self-surety he really had to admire.

She seemed like a strong woman, Castiel thought to himself, if not a little conceited, but he couldn’t fault her for that. She loved her family, and she wasn’t really made for this new world they lived in. She wasn’t like the women back at Chitaqua, soldiers and civilians-turned-soldier, who were taught to adapt, to be hard and lethal or accept their death at the hands of the servants of Lucifer. No, Lori was a wife and a mother, she knew nothing of the devil and to her the end of the world started and finished with the dead. But that didn’t make her weak, not by any means. She possessed that integral maternal strength he had seen evolve throughout nearly every species on the planet. A need to protect what was hers at any cost, even that of her own life, and she was remarkable for it. So he could forgive a few misguided and petty assumptions on another’s character, even if they were about someone he cared for. It didn’t mean he would stop trying to change her mind though.

“He’s learning,” Castiel smiled at her as he spoke, trying to convey he meant no offense in one of the few ways he had learned how, “and he really was integral when we were out there. I would have died were it not for him.” He broke off chuckling, gesturing down at the pitiful state of him, “If you think this is bad, Lori if he weren’t there it could have been so much worse. I was dragged by that—”

Don’t say wendigo, he cautioned himself.

“That bear,” he heaved an internal sigh of relief as he barrelled onward, “through miles of forest, down the side of a _cliff_. And he chased me, and tracked me, and carried me back _up_ the mountain to safety, all at great risk to himself. He didn’t have to do that, I’m barely an acquaintance to him, but he did. And I think it’s because deep down, he’s really a good person, he just had to bury it when Merle was around.”

“I guess you may be right,” she relented, “He is good with the kids, even if he needs to watch his mouth”

Castiel laughed at that, and she smiled at him in return, a sweet and dimpled smile that transformed her face, a young girl’s smile that he hadn’t seen yet. “Well, I’ll make sure to talk to him about that,” he promised, “and he also has about three pounds of gummy bears and soda in his bag, so we might want to pick up the pace before everyone under the age of twenty spirals into a sugar coma.”

Lori looked alarmed before laughing kindly, nodding in agreement and speeding up their climb.

She didn’t take him to his tent, he noticed and instead sat him down near her and Carl by the fire. “I’d like to take a look at those stitches, if you don’t mind.” She explained, “They look like they could use a cleaning, and then if you’d like, you could have supper with us?” Lori gestured to Carl, who was already chugging a can of Mountain Dew like it was going to disappear before his eyes, and Rick’s empty chair. How could he refuse?

The Grimes were a sweet family, he discovered as he ate. They all cared deeply for each other, and while Lori and Rick seemed to bicker there was a long and deeply seated affection there that was only amplified by his recent reintroduction into her life. And they both adored Carl, he was the centre of their collective universe. Castiel liked them a lot, and he was grateful for their companionship but there was something awful that nagged at him whenever they talked about what their life was like before the turn, like they could ever go back to how it was. It nipped at his heels as he watched Lori help Carl with his worksheets of arithmetic, like he would ever go back to school. When he heard Rick talk about the camp like they were trying to hold on to their old reality just long enough that when the world righted itself, they could slip back into their ordinary lives: Rick back at work, Carl in school and Lori making the casseroles.

He hated it. It hurt him so deeply, but there was nothing to be done. They didn’t know any better, and to them the upheaval of their lives was only temporary, something to struggle and survive through until they could go back to the way things were. So he had to smile politely, even though he wanted to scream. He had to make conversation and pretend that they were right, that Lucifer wasn’t walking the earth and that the host of heaven hadn’t abandoned them. He had to look at this sweet, misguided family and thank them for their hospitality, even though all he wanted to do was shake them, to make them understand that this was it. This was their reality, their new world order. God was dead, and they were never going back.

He couldn’t do that to them, and he knew it. These were traumatised people just barely making it day to day, and they were so completely human. He had seen it over the aeons, the power of hope and the decay that follows the loss of it. Humans needed hope, they needed something to hold on to even if they knew in their heart of hearts it was just a fallacy. And who was he, a fallen, unwanted failure of an angel to destroy what helped them sleep at night? He wouldn’t, he refused. He could suffer that reality alone, and he knew that he would, if it kept families like this one alive.

That was what his penance was anyways, right?

Castiel was burning out though, and fast. This time spent with the Grimes was pleasant but exhausting, and he knew he needed to get out before he slipped up and said something stupid. With a wash of relief, he spotted Daryl sitting across the fire, legs sprawled out in front of him and nibbling on some leftover jerky they had brought from the car. Cas politely excused himself, thanking them for the dinner and the company, hobbled over and plunked himself down on the ground next to Daryl, none too gently either.

“Is that your dinner?” He remarked with a teasing lilt to his voice.

He expected Daryl to say something catty in return, to give him a gentle shove or at least a quirk of his brow… but there was nothing. No movement, no reaction and Daryl didn’t even acknowledge that he was there. He told himself to ignore it, but it nagged at him even as they sat in silence, watching the fire.

Whatever his problem was, Cas couldn’t figure it out. He shifted slightly as he pondered it, splaying his fingers out in the dirt and accidentally brushing them along the side of Daryl’s palm. Castiel started when the other man jumped back like he had been electrocuted, and his hackles raised when Daryl shot him the one of the dirtiest looks he had ever seen directed at him… and he had faced down the devil.

This is infuriating, he groused internally as he moved his hand back, giving Daryl a look of bitter confusion. He hadn’t done or said anything out of the ordinary, and was almost certain he didn’t deserve to be treated like he’d just kicked a puppy. Cas kicked his feet out in front of him and as his thigh grazed Daryl’s knee, he rolled his eyes when Daryl shifted over visibly, putting a foot of distance between them.

That was it. He was being completely obstinate at this point, and with a burning rush of indignation and hurt feelings, Castiel clapped a hand on his shoulder and forcibly turned Daryl to face him. “What the hell is your problem?” He hissed, still keeping his voice down as he noticed a few people around the fire turn their attention to the two of them.

Looking back, Cas probably could have handled the situation better. He could have read Daryl’s body language, sensed the immense discomfort and the tension that was rolling off of him in waves. He could have noticed his terse expression, the thumbnail he was gnawing on the way he only seemed to when he was deep in thought, or deeply uncomfortable. He could have thought back to the way Daryl talked about them when they were together, how he felt like he could be with Castiel now that the _world had ended_ , and there was _no one around_ to be afraid of. How he had desperately wanted the two of them to run away together, to not come back to the camp, to stay on their own.

But he didn’t, and before he knew it his hand was torn from Daryl’s shoulder and flung backwards with so much force he spun at the waist, falling forward unceremoniously and face first into the dirt. He pushed himself up on his palms, drawing his legs underneath him and into a sitting position once more when Daryl’s hands connected with his chest sending him sprawling backwards and eliciting a few gasps from around the fire.

Castiel’s back hit the ground with a dull thud, and he barely managed to scramble up onto his elbows before Daryl was looming above him, shaking on his feet with his fists curled tightly. “Back the fuck off, you fucking faggot!” He spat down at him, face contorted and angry, a dark red flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

He recoiled when Daryl took a step forward, Castiel’s hands flying up in front of him out of instinct and he saw it, he saw in an instant all of the petty rage and fury washed out of Daryl’s face. The flush drained from him, his pallor suddenly white and sickly, his mouth slack and an expression of guilt cinching at the corners of his eyes. Realising what he had done, what he said, Daryl took another hesitant step forward and flinched as Castiel scurried back, kicking up dust in his panic to get away.

Cas could see the apology hovering on the tip of Daryl’s tongue, but he was soon advanced on by Shane and Rick who yanked him down roughly onto his ass, and it was knocked out of him in an indignant grunt. Castiel felt himself being pulled to his feet, and when he turned his head T-Dog was standing beside him, dusting off the back of his shirt. “Don’t worry about it man,” he muttered, keeping a steadying hand on Cas’ shoulder as he got his footing, “He’s just a redneck asshole.”

_Deep down he’s a really good person._

Daryl struggled to his feet but Rick and Shane were still on him, one in his face and the other watching his back. Rick was trying to calm him down, to get him to back off but Daryl wasn’t even advancing anymore. He was practically vibrating with the need to run, his chest heaving savagely around every audible breath but all he was doing was staring right past Rick, directly at Castiel.

“Come on, man, don’t!” T-Dog implored him as he broke away from his supportive hold, and started stalking towards Daryl. Cas heard Shane call out to Rick, pointing at him over his shoulder, but when Rick turned Castiel expertly sidestepped him, ignoring the shooting pain of his ankle and he rushed into Daryl’s space.

With both hands pressed firmly to his chest, Castiel heaved as hard as he could, sending Daryl reeling. It wasn’t a rough shove, only as hard as he could muster, as injured as he was, but Daryl didn’t try to avoid it. He stood there and he took it, stepping backwards with it and Cas knew he was letting him do this.

_Should we even go back there?_

Castiel suddenly understood why he was acting this way, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks and he fumed under the weight of it. He got it, he could understand it. But he didn’t deserve _this_.

“Go to hell.” He hissed through his teeth, turning sharply and hobbling off to his tent. He could hear T-Dog calling after him, could hear Rick admonishing Shane, and heard the steps of Lori following him to the edge of the fire’s light, asking if he was alright, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t respond.

He felt so stupid.


	9. Another Night in Bellwood Quarry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I am seriously overwhelmed by the response to this fic! It honestly is just a strange little brainchild I had to get out on paper that I had no expectations for, and I am absolutely ecstatic that people seem to be enjoying it. So thank you, really for the comments and the kudos, knowing people are reading it warms me to the bottom of my heart!
> 
> Moving on, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and it has the same warnings as the previous one. Happy Friday, folks!

He was so stupid.

Daryl could only blink owlishly as Castiel stormed off, watching his receding back as Rick shouted something at him, and Shane finally released his arm. He could feel all eyes on him, watching him and waiting for another blow out. But he couldn’t see anything past Castiel walking away.

He fucked up so bad, and he knew it. He let his paranoia get the better of him, he panicked and he lashed out just like he knew he would. It was his modus operandi, Daryl had been dealing with uncomfortable feelings in this fashion since he was a boy. It didn’t matter what the problem was, if he felt backed into a corner with no respite and no way out he would just react. Lash out and push away, so he could sequester himself and figure his shit out on his own.

But he hadn’t wanted to do that to Cas. When Daryl asked him if they had to go back to the quarry, it wasn’t because he entertained some grand notion of them making it on their own in the Georgia wilderness. He knew the likelihood of survival increased with greater numbers, and if it were the two of them alone, they would be in constant fear of attack and death. It wasn’t because he wanted to abandon the people at the quarry either. Sure, he and Merle had planned to rob the place blind, but as usual it had been mostly Merle’s idea, him leading and Daryl just doing what he was told. No, he asked Castiel to run away with him because he knew that the instant they set foot in the camp, he would end up freaked out and afraid, and he would do something rash that he regretted.

Like pushing Cas around while he was injured and unable to defend himself.

Like calling him a faggot in front of the whole camp.

Like losing his temper and snapping, just like his father used to.

Ignoring everyone around him, the concerned glances, the disappointed stares, the confused looks being shot at him from seemingly every direction he pushed Rick out of the way, taking off into the woods. His mind was reeling, his guilt bearing heavily on his shoulders and he couldn’t stand to be seen. He was so mad at himself, but resigned all the same. He expected this, hell he planned for it really. He just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

When Castiel was around him, he was all that Daryl could see. On the road, it wasn’t a big deal. As a matter of fact, it was good. They were good. Cas was everything he never let himself dream about: smart, strong, kind, endearingly awkward and absolutely beautiful. He was mysterious and somehow the wisest person Daryl had ever encountered in his life. He was the physical embodiment of everything Daryl had always denied he wanted, and most amazingly, he wanted him back. Castiel _wanted_ him, had given himself over to him so wholly that his skin still pricked with goosebumps at the thought of that night in the church, in the too-small backseat of the Impala, Cas’ pretty smile in the lantern’s glow. The warmth of his body against Daryl’s own, the sounds he made... Daryl let himself forget on that road, giving in for the first time to what he had always wanted, but never let himself have. What he thought about behind tightly closed eyes the few times he forced himself to bring home a random girl from the bar or a party, just to get his brother off his back, to keep up appearances and reinforce his disguise.

And he craved him, even now the only thought that ran through his head was how badly he wished to go to him. To slog his way out of the woods to Castiel’s tent and beg for him for forgiveness, to apologize and hold him the way he did when it was just the two of them, alone in a little world they had made for themselves. An unreality where they could be together, just them against the legions of the dead.

But they had to come back here, to the real world where there were people who could see them, who could watch the way they interacted with each other and easily deduce there was something there. And Daryl didn’t know how they would react. Certainly there were some he assumed were just bleeding heart, hippie democrats through and through, who wouldn’t demonize him or pose any immediate threat. There were others though that reminded him a little too much of the people in his hometown, of his brother and father whom he knew in his heart wouldn’t stand for it. Who would see the way he looked at Castiel, the way he couldn’t _help_  but look at Castiel, and would instantly know about their affair.

He could handle people like that. He had been handling them his whole life. He may have been able to monitor himself, hide his inner thoughts and project the persona people wanted to see, but that didn’t mean he never slipped up. And when he did he had to fight tooth and nail to protect himself, to reorient himself in his eyes as well as theirs.  He could handle himself.

It was Castiel he worried about. Daryl knew he could defend himself, he saw it against the walkers they encountered on the road, and in the way he managed to survive being savagely beaten and taken by the wendigo. He was quick to react and kept his wits about him, even in the direst situations. He was a survivor. But Daryl had also seen him at his lowest, when he was shaking and distant, burning cold and unable to keep a cracker down as he was ravaged by junk sickness. Had seen him break down at the chapel, recess into his mind momentarily in a way that Daryl had unfortunately recognized. Saw the way he looked at the brick in Daryl’s hand, with wide eyes and utter defeat. Cas could handle persecution, at least physically. He could take a beating, and he could protect himself. But could he handle it without breaking his soul apart? Without losing himself?

Daryl couldn’t protect him from that. He could try his best to keep him physically safe, but he couldn’t protect his mind. And he knew firsthand the profound impact that kind of hateful and intolerant behavior of those you were forced to depend on could have. He was a walking, talking example of the internalization of that kind of bigotry, and he knew the fortitude it took to live like that. Whether or not Castiel could live with that, he couldn’t say. But he didn’t want him to have to.

He didn’t want to have to leave him though, either.

There it was, the apex of this horrible dilemma. He didn’t want to put Castiel in harm’s way, but he didn’t want to lose him. So what was he to do? He had been ruminating all day on their drive back to the quarry, it was what he was thinking about when Cas joined him by the fire. He needed more time to figure it out, more time to think of a solution that would let them continue their affair but keep it from the eyes of the camp. And in the meantime he was hyper aware of every eye on him, every action and reaction he made, and everything Castiel said or did towards him, falling back into that increasingly destructive habit of self-monitoring that kept him fed, sheltered and alive as he grew up under his father’s roof. He was so worried someone would notice, that he reacted in the only way he knew how: with violence and degradation.

He might have solved his problem then, Daryl thought grimly. No fucking way Cas would want him now, not after the shit he pulled, the way he acted. He didn’t know where Castiel went to in his head when he had that attack in the chapel, but he saw it brimming just under the surface when Daryl shoved him onto his ass and called him… what he called him. It must have been bad, the kind of trauma that sticks to you no matter how hard you try to be rid of it, and it was very clearly physical. And what had Daryl done? Physically assaulted him and verbally attacked him with a bastardization of the very intimacy they had cultivated together on the road. There was not a doubt in his mind when he really thought about it. He had lost Castiel, in an instant.

He stopped suddenly, the weight of that last realization hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut. He lost him, he already lost him. The one person to ever help him fall asleep in the night. The one man he ever let himself give in to. The one he was doing all of this fretting and planning for. Daryl gnawed at his thumbnail, folded in on himself as he stood there in the dense, familiar forest, the excruciating comprehension of what he had done spreading to every part of him. It burned itself behind his eyes and weighted his feet until he was reduced to a pathetic moonlit statue, unable to move from the clearing he wandered into.

He was thoughtless, motionless as Castiel stormed up behind him. He didn’t even notice he was there until firm hands were pressing against his shoulder blades, shoving harder than he had at the camp and sending him hurtling towards the ground. Daryl caught himself on his hands and knees, scrambled to his feet but when he whirled around any admonishment he had died on his tongue.

Castiel was a mess, a shaking and terrifying mess. Daryl had never seen him angry before, he mused as he took him in, backlit by the pale beams of moonlight that drifted through the roof of trees overhead and he was glad he hadn’t. A pissed off Castiel felt like a force of nature. He was balanced on one foot still, but his shoulders were set. He held his chin high, fists clenched at his sides and his chest rising and falling with cool, measured breathes that contrasted to the furious trembling of his shoulders. His face looked as if it had been set in stone, angry yet collected, the face of a man with determination and a goal. And one of his clenched fists he held that familiar blue backpack, still open and completely emptied.

“Where the hell is it Daryl?” Castiel spoke coolly, with carefully chosen words and a resounding bite, “What did you do?”

“Where is what?” He decided to play dumb. He knew exactly what Cas was referring to, but he wanted to hear him say it. He had been standing here, berating himself for acting like an asshole, for treating Castiel like a piece of dirt, and he wouldn’t go so far as to say he didn’t deserve it. Daryl did, he was objectively an asshole. He deserved this confrontation, he deserved to be yelled and be taken to task for the way that he acted. But for Castiel to stand there, angrier about the fact that he ditched his stash of heroin than for how he had been treated? Daryl didn’t even want to acknowledge the vindication he felt, knowing his decision to chuck that brick as far as he could was the right call. They had one (granted, truly awful) altercation and that was all it took for Cas to go running back.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” he hissed, his demeanor slipping, “My stash, what did you do with it?”

With a scoff, Daryl shook his head in disbelief, “Seriously Cas? I fucking left it on the highway outside of Chattanooga. And it’s a good thing I did too, I mean look at you!” He gestured towards the bag in Castiel’s hand, “I mess up once, and believe me man I won’t mean to but I’ll do it again, and you go running back to your goddamned vice like well-trained dog! It was for your own good.”

He was taken aback when Castiel rushed forward, poking a finger at his chest and getting up in his face. “Don’t you _ever_ presume to know what’s best for me! Ever!” He punctuated each declaration with a hard jab of his finger, “You don’t know me, and you had no right!”

Daryl had to remind himself to breathe, to think about what he was going to say and not go off like he wanted to, but with each press of that finger against his breast he could feel his control slipping. He was wrong, he knew he was wrong to act the way he did back at camp. But he was right about this.

Reaching up with both hands he clasped them none too gently around Castiel’s fingers, anticipating the ensuing struggle. And when Cas predictably tried to pull away, Daryl let him go, but not before he brought those fingers to his lips, kissing them gently in a pantomime of their earlier, easy affection.

It seemed to work, his message getting through loud and clear when Castiel immediately backed down, bringing his hand into his chest and cradling it there. He was still livid, and the fury behind his eyes hadn’t dissipated, but a look of cool understanding spread across his face. Daryl hadn’t done it maliciously, he had tossed his stash because he cared about him. Because he wanted to help him.

“Castiel, I am so sorry.” Using the sudden silence, Daryl plowed ahead, “I should never have pushed you around like that, or yelled at you or called you what I did. And I never should have given you the cold shoulder in the first place. I just—” Where to begin? “I was just worried about us, about you, and I panicked.”

Castiel was watching him closely, sizing him up as they spoke with a predatory glint to his eye. Daryl had to play these next few moments out carefully, he realized, or he was either going to attack or bolt.

“You said it perfectly, that my father wasn’t a kind man.” Daryl spoke in a calm, measured voice, “Well neither was my brother, or our friends. No one we knew was kind, and it weren’t really their fault. They were abandoned by the system, forgotten by society, left out in the sticks without an education, no proper jobs or care, and no one to police ‘em. They did whatever they wanted day in and day out, with no one to tell them no, or show ‘em another way. And it’s not,” he paused, correcting himself, “it _wasn’t_ an easy life. It was hard, you had to fend for yourself. You lived in shit and squalor and you dealt with people who would sooner hurt you then help you. So sooner or later, you just grow cold. You grow resentful of the people back in town who have real homes, who can afford to send their kids to school with lunches and shit, or who didn’t need to chop down trees to heat their home in the winter. They didn’t need to decide between new boots without holes or keeping the power on. They could have both. And once you start hating one kind of people, it just gets easier to hate on every other kind of person, until all that’s left is you on one side and them on the other. And your sides the right side.”

“And I guess that works if you’re a person like them, but I wasn’t. I ain’t.” Looking up at Castiel, he found him staring at him with rapt attention, the anger barely holding on anymore. He just looked sad. “I loved to read, actual books, not just magazines. And I hated just lazing around all day doing nothing like my dad used to, and I used hunting just to get out of the damn house. I couldn’t sit there with ‘em, listening to them all talk about how ‘blacks, queers and democrats were ruining this country,’ or what they wanted to do to stop em.”

“I wasn’t into girls, but I had to pretend to be. Cause otherwise they’d fucking kill me, or at best I’d be out of a home. A homeless redneck with no two cents to his name, what the fuck would I do?” Daryl spat, throwing his hands out helplessly. He didn’t expect a response, and one never came, so he carried on, “It became routine, man, to just pretend I was somebody else. To resign myself to the fact that for the rest of my life, till the day I died I would have to be someone I hated, and I would never get to be who I really was. I could never, I don’t know, go back to school. Or get a real job somewhere. Or be with someone I really wanted to be with, that I couldn’t be with because they weren’t a girl, and my father didn’t ‘raise no fairy.’”

“You said it best, you know? You said that if you hear something often enough, and loud enough, it starts to stick.” Keep your shit together Daryl, he thought viciously, running like a mantra through his head as he could feel his throat getting tighter, his eyes burning as he scrubbed at them with the palm of his hand. “Well, this stuck. I don’t know why it did, I know that he’s gone, that Merle is gone and that place I’m remembering don’t exist no more. But when I see the people here, at this camp, and I think about them finding out about us? Cas, I’m so sorry, I panicked.”

He couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t see him standing there, staring and not speaking. So he tore his eyes away and turned his back, crossing his arms over his chest as he willed himself to take a deep breath. To get back to himself.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I didn’t think, I just reacted… I was so afraid somehow I would fuck up, I would trip up and you wouldn’t know! You wouldn’t know to act like we weren’t together, and then someone else would see it and I couldn’t handle that. I can’t take having them _know_.”

“Daryl, there’s nothing wrong with you.” Cas’ voice broke meekly through the clearing, “There’s nothing wrong with me, or us. With what we’re doing.”

“I know that!” Daryl snapped, whirling round and finding Castiel much closer than before, “I fucking know that man, I do. I…” Breathe in, breathe out, “I want you. I want to be with you, and I want to have what we had out there,” He gestured wildly in the distance, before pointing back to the fading glow of the camp fire, hearing soft voices and laughter echoing through the trees, “in here. I want that more than anything.”

Castiel stepped ever closer, small and imperceptible shifts of his feet, and Daryl fought against every iota of his being that was screaming at him to run away, to get back. He sighed a shaky breath as Cas closed the distance between them, not doing anything more than placing his free hand to the centre of Daryl’s chest, just to feel his heart pounding. Such a simple point of contact, but it was everything, and Daryl couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and covering Cas’ hand with his own.

“But I can’t just shut it off. This denial was how I survived this long, and it’s not like I can just flip a switch and turn it off.”

“We don’t have to…” Castiel paused, looking down at their joined hands as he bit at his lower lip, “Daryl I don’t want you to have to feel like this. If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this. I can distance myself, and we can go back to how things were before, before we left the camp.”

“No!” Daryl jumped at his own vehemence, Castiel taking a step back as well before righting himself, “No, that’s not what I’m asking for.”

“Then what can I do?” Cas implored, dropping the long forgotten bag to the ground with a hollow thunk and reaching up towards him, cupping his face in his palm. “Please, tell me what you need. Because I want you too Daryl, but I can’t do that again.”

He didn’t have to specify what _that_ was he referred to, and Daryl shifted to watch the campfire through the trees. “Can we just, be careful, for right now?” he asked cautiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s watch what we say and do around everyone else. They don’t need to know, and we don’t need to tell ‘em. We can act casual, normal, you know? Don’t stir the pot? That way we can still have this,” Daryl stepped forward, wrapping the hand not clutched to his chest around Castiel’s waist, settling on the small of his back and pulling him closer, “while I work through my shit.”

Castiel sighed deeply, a pensive frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know, you know I’m not a good liar, I don’t know if I could…”

“It wouldn’t be lying,” he continued, bolstered by this idea. This could work, he thought as he pressed his forehead against Cas’, “you would just be, omitting certain facts. We wouldn’t have to lie, and all we would have to do is keep shit like this,” He looked down at their pressed together torsos pointedly, making Castiel chuckle and his heart soar, “private. On runs, or at night, whenever we can get away. I promise it wouldn’t be forever, just temporary. Just until I get sorted.”

The silence was deafening as Castiel deliberated, worrying his lip between his teeth and scanning Daryl’s face for some kind of sign that this was just a cruel joke. It was a moment that stretched on forever, tugging at the unravelling threads of his newfound confidence, and just as he was certain he asked too much, that he over stepped and was going to pull away, Castiel leaned in and kissed him.

He had never melted into a kiss before that moment. His anxiety, his guilt and his fear completely washing out of him, pouring from his limbs and onto the forest floor and he thought for a brief moment he could have cried at the relief of it. Castiel’s lips on his were like balm to a wound, and with a sigh he released his hand, wrapping the other man in both arms and pulling him as close as he could, smiling against his mouth as he felt Cas’ hands slide through his hair, meeting at the base of his neck.

“I’ll do it Daryl, but I have three conditions.” Castiel murmured as he pulled back, “One, that this arrangement is only temporary.” He was watching him carefully through heavy lidded eyes, “I’ve been someone’s dirty secret before, and I won’t be that again.”

Daryl nodded his agreement, pressing a kiss to his nose and waiting patiently for the next.

“Two, you need to trust me to make my own decisions.” Before Daryl could protest, Cas held a finger to his lips, giving him a sharp look that told him he wasn’t done. “I’m a grown man, and as well-meaning as this last gesture was, I do not need you to make up my mind for me. If I’m going to make mistakes, I’ll make mistakes and it is my right to do so. By all means, tell me if you think what I’m doing is rash or destructive, but you _cannot_ make decisions for me.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Daryl relented, staring absently down at the empty blue backpack at their feet, “Okay, yeah I agree. What’s the last one?”

“If you ever, _ever_ talk to me like you did at the fire again? You better hope you can hide as well as you hunt, because if I catch you? I’m taking your thumbs.”

“That’s not a condition.”

“No, I guess not, but it’s a promise.”

“Got it.” Daryl said with a chuckle, cupping Castiel’s face in his hands and dipping down to capture his lips once more, “And Cas? I’m sorry.”

A quiet hum against Daryl’s mouth was his only response, but he took it all the same.

The fire had all but died down, the voices of the camp drifting apart, falling into whispers but still they stood there, leaning against each other in the dark. Neither spoke, neither dared to move, but it was quiet. Comfortable, Daryl thought, it was always comfortable when they were alone together. Castiel had softened completely, yielding and warm once more and Daryl wished he never had to be any other way.

When they finally pulled apart, it was without word or ceremony, just a shy smile and the shuffling of leaves under their feet. And as they moved through the woods, they spoke softly, kind words and sweet nonsense until they paused outside of Castiel’s tent.

Not a soul was awake in the camp, or at least outside of their tents. They had been gone for a long time it seemed, and everyone had settled down for the night, leaving them to work things out amongst themselves. Daryl was feeling fine, when they were in the woods he had been better than fine, that they even managed to reconcile was something he never deigned to hope for, and he had been floating on air since. But now, hovering outside of that tent, with Castiel standing there, waiting for him to make a move, to let him know what he needed? He was nervous.

It made no sense to him. There was no one around, they were alone, nothing had changed from the forest to here, but still he could feel it brewing. It curled in his stomach, bubbling up and out through his chest, buzzing in his head. He watched silently as Cas gave him a quizzical look, clutching that stupid backpack in his curled fists and shifting on his feet, wincing when he was forced to put more weight than he could manage on his bad ankle.

Castiel was ethereal in that moment. Bathed in moonlight, his eyes gleamed a shade of blue they’ve never been before, bright like they were being lit up from the inside out. The bruises didn’t register, the stiches faded into darkness on the left half of his face, while the pale white light illuminated the other, and he shone. Radiant and softly glowing across his high cheekbones, his drawn and worried brow, the gentle slope of his neck. He didn’t look human in this light, he looked like something more. Something greater than what Daryl could see. And Castiel was watching him, observing him like he needed to figure him out. Like Cas was seeing something deep inside of him, that he himself didn’t have the capacity to see.

I can’t stop this, Daryl realized, I couldn’t. He wasn’t nervous because someone would see them, he was nervous because he wanted to pull Castiel with him into that tent. He wanted to lay him down on the thin foam mat that served as a bed nowadays and undo him. Take him apart piece by piece so he could be the one to remould him again. He wanted to hold Cas close and bury himself inside of him _,_ not some poor woman he couldn’t bring himself to look at after but a man he truly wanted, and against all odds seemed to care for.  And that was yet another thing he had never done before.

He didn’t speak. He figured they had spoken enough in the past two days to encompass a lifetime. Instead he silently unzipped the flap of Castiel’s tent, taking the blue bag from his hands and tossing it in before crouching himself and stepping in. Daryl turned once inside, sheepishly holding out a hand towards him, palm up and beckoning, aching for him to follow.

There was no hesitation, and Castiel was on him the instant he stepped inside, barely managing to get the flap closed behind him. And Daryl couldn’t help but laugh as his back hit the floor, Cas straddling his thighs and devouring his mouth, the first time in his life that his nerves served him well, propelling him forward as he flipped them, embracing the supple body beneath him and adoring each keening whimper that escaped Castiel’s throat. Worshipping every twinge of his muscles against Daryl’s fingers, the burning redness that seared against his cheeks as he finally, agonizingly pressed into him, hips flush and breath racing. Venerated the chorus of his name that spilled from Cas’ lips as he came, hurtling at each other as he broke against him, and pulling Daryl alongside him.

And after, there were no words. How was he to describe something that was so fundamentally changing, and yet not at all? No different than anything he had done before, but had still left him completely altered. As Daryl slid out and off of Castiel, rolling to his side, panting hard and pulling him close, he became achingly aware of himself again. Of where he was, who he was, and who he was with. And it was like a miracle when the guilt and the shame he anticipated weren’t there. He was left sated and thoughtless, trailing kisses up the juncture of Castiel’s neck, dipping just below his collar and smiling against his warm skin.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, his face pressed into Cas’ shoulder, “I didn’t… hurt you, or nothin’, did I?”

Shaking his head, Castiel looked over his shoulder, a slow and satisfied grin on his face. “No, I’m fine. More than fine.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’m wonderful. Are _you_ okay?”

“Oh yeah, just peachy.” Daryl beamed. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light, so easy. Curling his arms around Castiel’s waist he pulled him even tighter to his chest, inhaling deeply and feeling Cas stretch back against him, “I could get used to this.”

This time when Cas looked back over his shoulder, he caught Daryl’s eye and held it. “Then get used to it.” He murmured, knocking his forehead gently against Daryl’s before turning out the light.

Yeah, there weren’t no stoppin’ this.

 

* * *

 

 

“I think he’s sweet.” Lori spoke surely as she sat cross legged on their sleeping bags, brushing her hair absently. She sat with her back to her husband, speaking softly in the dark as she watched her son sleep soundly across the tent.

“I think so to, he seems nice enough,” Rick turned to face her, laying on his side as he reached out, sliding his fingers down her spine, curling along the small of her back, “But he’s strange Lor, and I can’t quite place it. It’s like, sometimes when you’re talking to him, he ain’t all quite there. Like he’s off in his head.”

She hummed, dragging her fingers through her hair as she turned that over in her head. They had been going back and forth on Castiel all night, what they should have him do in the camp, and whether it was about time they started loosening the reigns on him.

It hadn’t been that long since he’s shown up at their doorstep, barely a week and over half of that week was spent out on the road with Daryl Dixon, getting supplies and being mauled by bears. But in that week he had really proved himself. He was selfless it seemed, willing to trek to gather his left behind supplies and donate them gladly for the betterment of the camp. He was a sarcastic little shit, but he was nice and easygoing, he didn’t mind being assigned to do the laundry with the girls. He just embraced it, cracking jokes and being sassy whenever someone gave him a hard time about it. 

He was good with the kids too, though he didn’t seem too used to them. He was very literal, and a lot of things that seemed normal or commonplace to others went over his head, so they found him hysterical. But he was good natured, and he played along even though he didn’t really understand and she liked him for that. She liked him a lot actually, it was why she was still up talking to her husband so late at night, when they would normally be asleep, trying to convince him to give him his gun back, and get Daryl off of guard duty. Especially after their altercation that night.

“I just don’t see how we can keep him shackled to Daryl like that, not after tonight.” She muttered, shimmying up the sleeping bag and crawling inside of it, “He’s a loose cannon, and Cas shouldn’t have to be persecuted like that.”

Rick hummed deep in his throat as he rolled towards her, pulling her up against his chest. “They seemed to work together well enough out on the road. I don’t know what set Daryl off like that, but you never know, they might work it out.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear, a placating gesture he picked up after years of marriage that she never could decide if she liked or hated, “Besides, it’s not that I don’t agree with you. The stuff he brought back? There’s enough food and medicine to keep us in a good place for weeks, months if we ration properly. The weapons are invaluable. And he’s just handing them over.”

“So what’s the big deal?” She asked, turning over and staring at him through the dark of their tent, “Why does he still need to be policed? We didn’t do that to you when you came back.”

“Lor, you know me, I'm your husband, Carl's father. Castiel? He's still a stranger. It’s a different world now, and we have to be careful. We have to look out for our own.” He explained, talking slowly in a way that got under her skin. It was amazing, really how quickly they fell back into their same old song and dance. How after a few short weeks the gratefulness she felt, her joy at seeing her husband alive had begun to fade away, and they settled into the routine they were sequestered in before the turn.

Her guilt still ate her alive though, just as it had when she first watched him walk up that hill, in his uniform and hat like nothing bad had happened. Like the world didn’t end, like she hadn’t had to leave him… like she didn’t think he was dead. Like nothing had happened with Shane.

Only now that guilt was easier to manage, now that the shock of him coming back from the dead had worn off, and the seeping resentment that could only be born from being married too young, too long had begun to rear its ugly head once more. She still loved him, she would always love him and she knew it. You didn’t spend over half of your life with a person and just stop caring about them. He just grated on her every nerve sometimes, like now, as he spoke to her like a child. He felt like he had to explain to her exactly what the flaws in her thinking were, like she couldn’t have her own opinion and it sent her blood boiling. It didn’t make it right, what she did… but it helped her to rationalize.

And after all, Shane had _told_ her Rick was dead.

“Okay, yes that is different. But I honestly feel that he’s a good person.” Laying on her side, she grappled for his hand in the dark and held it in her own, turning the ring on his finger absently, willing herself not to think about how heavy her own felt. How she wasn’t quite used to the weight of it anymore. “And I’m not saying we give him his gun back. But can we at least let him have some privacy, he doesn't need Daryl on constant guard duty! You said anything he needed we would do, well he’s not going to ask for it, but he needs his privacy back. He’s not our prisoner Rick, and we’re not going to treat him like one. We’re not those kind of people.”

Rick sighed deeply, a conceding sound she recognized immediately and she knew that she had won.

“You’re right,” he threw his hands up weakly, rolling onto his back and away from her as he studied the roof of the tent, “You’re absolutely right, and we can’t become those kind of people. He's earned at least that much. I’ll tell him tomorrow that he can come and go as he pleases.”

She smiled and gave herself a mental pat on the back, curling into her husband’s side and throwing her leg across his. “Thank you, baby.” She whispered, giving him a peck on the cheek, “He’ll really appreciate it, I just know he will.”

“But I do have a favour to ask you.”

Ah, there’s the rub.

“What favour?” She asked cautiously, trailing her fingers through the thick thatch of curls across his chest, scratching gentle circles against his skin.

His hand drifted up her side, down her arm to her hand, stilling her movements as he turned his head towards her, speaking against her forehead. “I need you to get him talkin’, about what it’s like out there.” He murmured, his voice soft but commanding, “He was out on the road almost a month, and he had to drive through five states to get here. He says he didn’t see nothing… that he didn’t run into the army, or any survivors and that he has no idea what’s going on, but that can’t be true. He knows something about this Lori, I just know it, I can feel it in my gut. He was at ground zero apparently, the dead had been up and walking around in Sioux Falls for over a year before they reached us here, but how can that be? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He had been absently stoking the back of her hand with his thumb, and at her silence he stopped, using their joined hands to tip her head back and look into her eyes. “Please, Lor we need to know. And if he has answers he ain’t telling, if we can’t trust him? We need to know that too.”

“And if I do this, you’ll call off Daryl?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll even switch Cas over to a different job, get him off laundry and onto something more fitting.”

“Good, cause he sucks at it. You’d think he’s never washed his own clothes before in his life.” Lori laughed quietly, “He tries his hardest though.”

“I can see that.” He kissed her forehead sweetly, and as he ran his fingers through her hair she was reminded again why she fell in love with him in the first place. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah Rick, I’ll do it.”


	10. West Marietta St NW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your wonderful comments and kudos! I'm trying to reply to everyone, if I haven't yet hold tight, I will get there. 
> 
> This chapter will be the last installment until March 1st, as I am going on vacation for a week this Tuesday (yay!). But, I will be keeping up on writing, so when I return I should have plenty of new material for you guys, and this chapter is a long one, so hopefully that helps.
> 
> I've listed the authors/poems referenced in this chapter at the end, they're not mine and they are pretty great, so you should check them out ;)
> 
> Thanks again, hope you enjoy this yummy, smutty installment!

When Cas woke up before the crack of dawn, he could already tell it was going to be a blistering day. His hair stuck to his skin in sweaty, matted clumps, and his shirt was clinging to what felt like every individual rib. His thighs were sticking together, his face felt glued to Daryl’s chest while his arm, slung haphazardly over Cas’ shoulder, was burning hot and heavy. He kicked off the sleeping bag with a whine, looking for some respite, a way to fall back asleep, but even when he managed crumple the bag beneath his feet, there was no breeze to be had through the mesh window of the tent. Cracking his eyes open, he glared at it menacingly, as if it had done him a personal offense.

“Oh god, why’s it so disgusting?” Daryl roused with a moan, running the back of his hand across his forehead. He was no better off it seemed, and when he pulled his hand away and it was glistening with sweat he pulled a disgusted face, “It weren’t this hot last night, the hell did this come from?”

Castiel only grumbled in response, peeling himself from Daryl’s arms and sitting up straight. Judging by the light outside and the position of the sun it couldn’t be earlier than five or six in the morning. It was still fairly dark, fairly quiet, with only the faint chirps of birds breaking through the silence.

Good, Cas thought with a smile. They still had some time before Daryl had to gather his things and head back to his own tent. 

Too bad it was so hot he couldn’t bear the thought of touching him again.

Instead, Castiel flopped down on his back with a good couple of inches between them, closing his eyes with a sigh. Maybe a few more minutes, he thought to himself, a few more minutes of sleep and then they could start the day. Now that he had extricated himself from Daryl, he was beginning to cool down… fractionally, but still it was better. He felt his head grow heavy again, and the heady call of sleep fading in and out of the corners of his vision.

He also felt fingers, and the back of a hand so hot it was almost scalding to his sleep addled skin, drifting gently across his cheek.

“Stop it.” He complained, batting weakly at the offending hand and missing by a mile, his loosely curled fist hitting his pillow instead, eliciting an amused snicker from his ill-mannered guest, “You’re gross.”

“We’re gross.” Daryl corrected, but pulled the offending hand away all the same. Cas almost thanked him, his skin slowly beginning to cool once more now that the living furnace he was sharing his bed with backed off. But that thought died the instant he felt those very same hands grab him by the shoulders, rolling him onto his side and pressing his face into the damp fabric of Daryl’s shirt.

Cas moaned pitifully, eyes still closed and pawing at his chest in a futile attempt to get away while Daryl held him, chuckling under his breath. Castiel realised how ridiculous he must look, a grown man acting like an uncomfortable child, but temperature fluctuations were just one of those human things he couldn’t stand. They either set his teeth chattering and skin stinging with cold, or they had his body producing all kinds of liquids he didn’t much care for and filling him with an uncomfortable, prickling warmth that wouldn’t disperse no matter what he did.

“All right,” Daryl relented, releasing him with a hard done by sigh, “you’re free, you can stop… whatever it is you’re doing.” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was smiling, an after Castiel rolled back onto his back he groped around beside him, find Daryl’s hand and looping their fingers together. This he could deal with, he decided.

He finally pried his eyes back open, lolling his head to the side and found Daryl watching him, wide awake already. He didn’t mess around when it came to sleep, Cas realised early on. He was either out like a light or wide awake, there was no in-between. And he was the lightest sleeper ever, the slightest rustle outside of the tent at night had him awake in seconds, knife in hand and eyes on alert. It meant whatever sleep he got was often interrupted, which was a shame as he didn’t manage to get much at all.

Neither of them did really. They both suffered from frequent bouts of insomnia, tossing and turning all night, and waking early, sometimes before the sun was up. Sleeping together had been a huge help, having someone else there was soothing in and of itself, and Castiel at least found that he didn’t always miss the opiate assisted stupors he used to call sleeping when Daryl was around, sprawled out across the tent or curled around his back. But it was still fairly hard to get to the point where he was able to fall asleep, and more often than not they would end up reading, or fucking, or reading then fucking, or any other combination they could think of until the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t something he was going to start complaining about now, and it had its upsides… like being guaranteed to wake up before everyone else in the camp, so they could sequester themselves in their own tents after a hasty goodbye.

It had been about three weeks since they got back from Chattanooga, and the argument they got into had been all but forgiven. Castiel held onto no bad feelings, Daryl eventually felt alleviated of his guilt and they managed to come to an understanding on where they stood with each other. The next morning at camp they were pleasant, everything having been absolved and they went back to being visibly friendly, but nothing more.

Their subsequent reconciliation that first night back though? That had been like throwing a brick through a plate glass window: there was no putting it back together.

They fucked like bunnies after that.

Every night they could manage it, they snuck into one another’s tent and stayed there till the morning. But even still, they oftentimes found themselves sneaking out to the woods in the middle of the day, when Daryl was supposed to be hunting and Castiel keeping a perimeter. And even though Daryl bemoaned he was too old to be running around like a horny teenager, it didn’t stop him from slipping Castiel notes beckoning him down to the water once everyone was gone for the day, dragging him into the shallows behind the cliffs and blowing him out of sight of the camp.

They tried to be careful about it, they really did. Castiel was in a constant state whenever they came back from a tryst in the woods, worried that someone would say something either seriously or in jest, and Daryl would lose his temper, or worse yet, clam up and not speak to him for days. It had happened only once, when after the aforementioned quarry blow job Glenn had made a joke about their dripping clothes, and Castiel did not want to go through that again. Three days of silent treatment, where Daryl wouldn’t so much as glance at him around camp were all it took for Castiel to go nuclear, ambushing him on a hunt and making such a fuss he drew Croats down on them. Daryl had promised that night, slipping into Cas’ tent after dark and holding him, that he wouldn’t shut him out like that again. But he had promised that before, so Cas figured it was better just to play it safe and be hyper vigilant.

Daryl was the more relaxed of the two of them surprisingly, his confidence in his ability to hide things from others was actually pretty remarkable. And with good reason, he excelled at it. Cas usually followed his lead, letting him take the reins on excuses, or pick where to go, when to leave and how to hide. It wasn’t ideal, and if it were anybody else Cas would probably just tell them no, that it was too much trouble but…

It wasn’t anybody else, it was Daryl, and Castiel was quickly realising how enamoured he was with him. It wasn’t just about sex with him like it had been with Dean, though they usually ended up back there at some point or another. Daryl was a series of complexities and contradictions… he was volatile but rational. The strongest person Cas had ever met, physically and mentally, but so terribly easy to hurt. He was usually so distant, but had such capacity for caring and selflessness. He was hard in front of the rest of the world, but not with Castiel. He felt like, even if he still had eternity afforded to him, he would never be able to completely figure out this man whom he was so fascinated by.

And he thought that Daryl felt the same about him. He could feel it in the way Daryl would seek him out on a daily basis, but oftentimes just to talk. Or to walk together, patrol or hunt small game in absolute silence, not touching but enjoying each other’s presence all the same. And at night when they would lie together in one of their tents, breathing heavy but satisfied, flipping through passages of Castiel’s fast dwindling collection of books, reading and debating long dead philosophers and poets. Or when they sat by the fire with the rest of the camp, inching closer to them each day at Castiel’s silent behest, asking about each other’s day.

It was in those moments he knew he couldn’t say no to him, not to Daryl. He was uncomfortable with the subterfuge, sure, but he could manage. If they could stay like this, like they were this hot, Georgia morning? He could put up with a lot of shit he wouldn’t otherwise.

“You’re doing it again.” Daryl said gently, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at Castiel.

Cas quirked his head to the side and furrowed his brow in askance.

“Thinking so hard you end up somewhere else.” Raising their clasped hands off the sleeping bag, Daryl pressed his lips to the inside of his wrist. He slipped down Cas’ forearm, gentle nips and hot laves of his tongue, pausing to worry the thin skin just above his inner elbow before continuing upward towards his shoulder. He held Castiel’s arm out by the wrist, delicately as he kissed across his upper arm, the back of his shoulder, stilling finally at his neck. Daryl brought their joined arms across Cas’ stomach, both of their hands curling against him and Castiel yielded, turning properly onto his side and letting himself sink backwards into Daryl’s chest.

“I’m here.” Cas whispered against the pillow as he skipped his thumb across Daryl’s knuckles, “Sorry, I’m back now.”

 He could feel Daryl nod against his shoulder, his hair tickling the back of his neck. “Good,” he yawned deeply, scraping his fingernails against Castiel’s stomach through his shirt, “I think I need to get going.”

“No.” He really did, the sun was rising fast but Cas wasn’t ready to relinquish is hand yet, tugging him closer and curling forward, so Daryl’s body wrapped tighter around his.

“You’re so cranky in the morning, man.” He sounded gruff, but Daryl paired his response with a kiss to his cheek and Cas let him go with a sigh, “I’ll find you tonight, alright? What do you have planned for this morning, anyways?”

Cas sat up along with him, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Any chance he had at falling back asleep was about to leave the tent with Daryl, so he figured he may as well get up and face the day. “I was going to do a quick sweep of the woods, make sure the perimeter’s still secure… then head down to the quarry, and see if Lori needs any help.”

“What, you like washing clothes or something?” Daryl teased.

With a scoff, Cas pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, laying back briefly and lifting his hips to slide them up his legs, rolling his eyes when Daryl whistled at him lasciviously. “Not even a little. But I like Lori and she mentioned last night that they’re pretty backlogged with laundry. Thought I’d lend a hand.”

“Well I almost envy you today, getting to spend the afternoon in the water.” As he buttoned his shirt, Daryl craned his neck to look out the window of the tent, glaring at the slowly rising sun, “It’s gonna be hot.”

“It’s already hot.” Castiel groused. There was no doubt in his mind why the laundry was backed up, the days getting steadily warmer and more humid over the course of the week, with no rain or reprieve in sight. Everyone was miserable, and most of all they were sweaty as sin, “It’s practically steaming in here, and it’s still only morning.”

They were both ready to go in seconds, having mastered the art of quick changing over their weeks together, and Cas shuffled on his knees towards the door. Unzipping the flap, he poked his head out and tried to look casual, diligently scanning for any sign that someone might have woken before them, however unlikely that was. Once he had determined that the coast was clear, he motioned for Daryl, moving out of the way of the flap.

“I’m gonna be in the woods the better part of the day,” Daryl stated, reaching out to cup Castiel’s neck and kneeling in front of him, “so wait for me tonight. I’ll be by once I’ve checked all my snares and traps.”

Cas nodded, smiling as Daryl leaned forward and kissed him, his thumb sweetly stroking the underside of his jaw while his other hand snaked around his waist, trailed his back and cupped his ass through his jeans. “Okay, you have to go or else we’re never going to leave this tent.” Cas scolded him with a laugh, batting his hand away and giving him a playful shove out the door. Daryl threw his hands up in mock defense, shooting him a wink before hurrying out if the tent and zipping the flap behind him.

Waiting until he could no longer hear his steps, Castiel flopped back down on the sleeping bags again, grinning ear to ear as he fished around in his back pocket. He found what he was looking for immediately, and as he relaxed into his pillow he gingerly unfolded the small scrap of paper, careful not to tear it.

Daryl had been doing this every day for the past two weeks, slipping notes in his pockets or his bag, the bottom of his knife holster or in between the pages of a book he was reading. Somewhere he’d definitely find it. The first time he’d assumed it was just a note to meet him at his tent, or out to the woods, but when he ducked away from the rest of the camp to unfold and read it, he was completely charmed.

Every day was a new verse, from some poem or another. Some he recognized, some he didn’t, but they were always lovely and these little notes had quickly become the highlight of Castiel’s day. He looked forward to finding them, and had even made it a bit of a game to try and catch Daryl hiding them. Today had been a bit of a throwaway, but sometimes he could be very sneaky. Cas had only ever managed to catch him once beforehand.

“Busy old fool, unruly sun, why dost thou thus, through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?” He read aloud to himself, softly and under his breath. This was one he didn’t recognize the author of, but the sentiment was clear and Castiel couldn’t help but bring the scrap of paper to his lips, his smile saccharine sweet.

He knew he was acting like a lovesick fool, and that their situation should merit him being more cautious about his feelings, but just as he couldn’t help the silly smile he wore he also couldn’t help the way his heart beat faster as he read these notes. He had never been the center of someone’s affections like this, and he had to admit he liked it, especially since it had taken him by surprise. He knew Daryl was an avid reader, it had been one of the first things he’d learned about the other man. But he didn’t know that he had all but memorized such a vast compendium of poetry, and it made his legs weak to think that he was inspiring this gruff, shielded hunter to put those verses to paper.

He’d seen stanzas from Keats and Byron, from Dickinson and cummings. Romantics, Victorian, modern… there was no rhyme or reason to the poems that were left for him, only whatever inspired Daryl to write and leave them for Castiel to find, and that was his own. All Cas knew was that they all dealt with the same themes and topics, line after carefully chosen line on love and lovers, and that they sent his stomach fluttering. Each note warmed him deeply and knocked any and all rational thought from his mind, and after reading them he had begun to lovingly fold them back up and keep them in the bottom of that empty blue backpack, safe and secure.

“Hey Cas, you awake?”

He sat up with a start, hurriedly shoving the note in his hand into the bag along with the rest and rushed out of the tent. Lori gave him a puzzled look as he swiftly zipped the tent shut behind him, but he just brushed it off. They had been in there all night in the heat and humidity, and it smelled like sweat and sex… she didn’t need to suffer through that.

“You know, a ‘yes’ would have sufficed.” She said with a smile, holding her hand out and helping him to his feet. His ankle was basically healed now, though it was still a little stiff in the mornings or after he had been on his feet for a while, so he took her hand gratefully. With the other hand she thrust a steaming cup of coffee in his direction, “Here, I thought you might need this. We’re going to have to get started early if we want to get caught up today.” 

“Thank you,” Castiel took the mug from her, sipping carefully as he watched her over the rim. What was she doing up so early, he wondered. Normally around this time it was just him and Daryl, doing rounds through the forest before everyone woke up, and meeting the group back at the campfire for breakfast, and even then it was usually only the early risers like Dale and Jacqui who were up at that time.

“Don’t mention it, was the least I could do since you offered to help. I swear, the amount of clothes that have piled up in the past week is astonishing, I didn’t think we even had that many people.” Sighing, she looked over her shoulder at the quarry, “Amy and Andrea are down there fishing as we speak, so we won’t be able to start for another couple of hours. But I figured I could help you check the perimeter of the camp, you know? Rick and the others are still in the city, and I need something to keep me occupied so I don’t drive myself nuts with worry. So, I thought I could keep you company… if that’s alright with you?” She smiled sheepishly, ducking her chin to her chest and looking up at him with big, doe eyes, as if he would say no.

Cas nodded, smiling as he graduated from cautiously sipping to gulping down the instant nightmare she had made for him (it didn’t taste like any coffee he had ever had, but at least it would wake him up). He figured he could use the company, it was going to be a muggy, awful day and with Lori around he would at least have someone to talk to as he slogged through the woods, checking lines and hubcaps, and dispatching any rogue Croats.

“Okay, perfect. Carol will look after Carl then, just let me go say goodbye to him and I’ll meet you back here? Give you some time to finish freshening up?” Lori was giving him a curious look, one he couldn’t really place… she had an eyebrow raised and was smiling, but not as good-naturedly as she was before. No she was smiling like she knew something she shouldn’t, and it went right over Castiel’s head until she took pity on him and elaborated, “Or, was that not Daryl I saw sneaking out of your tent just now?”

His stomach dropped to what felt like his knees, plummeting as a ridiculous flush spread out across his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe, in or out, his lungs had ceased to function and he just gaped uselessly, mouth working around nothing. Cas was utter speechless, staring at her with eyes so wide he must have seemed absolutely comical were he not so frightened. How did she see that? He checked, he was always so careful and he hadn’t seen anybody. Daryl made it to his tent alright, he must not have seen Lori either… she must have been coming through the trees behind the tent, their one blind spot, and he hadn’t thought to check back there this morning, because it was so early.

“Cas, relax.” Lori said softly, her expression dropping and she took a tentative step forward, concerned, “I was just kidding, I mean I saw him leave but I just figured he’d come by to borrow a book or something… right?”

She was supplying him with an excuse, he realized with a start, and he could have kissed her then. “Y-yeah,” Cas managed to fight out, shaking his head to snap himself out of his stupor, “he was returning a book, actually. He’s blowing through my collection rather quickly, I was honestly considering making a run to one of the smaller towns around here to look for a bookstore.”

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a firm smack on the shoulder, “Really, don’t be stupid! Keeping Daryl Dixon well-read isn’t worth risking your life.” Ever the den mother, Lori let her hand linger, squeezing gently as she reflected over her next choice of words, “And Cas… you know I wouldn’t care about _that_ , right? If you two were, I mean—”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Castiel stated tersely, gulping down the last mouthful of coffee, grimacing around the undissolved grinds collected at the bottom of the mug. “But if I did, then yeah, I’d know.” He shot her a cursory glance, eyes pleading, “And if what you are referring to was actually a thing that could happen, you wouldn’t say anything to anybody if you knew about it, would you?”

“Of course not.” She affirmed, “It wouldn’t be mine to talk about. And you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing, you know, about this hypothetical situation? They’re all caught up in just making it day by day right now. They haven’t noticed a thing, not that there’s anything to notice.” Lori coughed into her hand, “If you wanted to avoid this kind of misunderstanding in the future though, you might want to, uh, come back from your group hunting trips separately. That might cause some idle minds to wander if you’re not careful.”

“Got it.”

“Excellent.”

There was a hard, heavy silence in which they just stood there, not looking at each other or speaking a word. Lori stood with her arms akimbo, chin to her chest as she studied the dirt she was pawing at with the toe of her boot. Castiel held the mug in front of him, now empty and cradled between both of his hands, staring at it like he might find a way out of this situation through the bottom of it. They both shifted as they felt a breeze sweep through the clearing, hearing the leaves rustle overhead and savouring the brief respite from the swampy heat, and their eyes met across the space between them.

Lori was the first to laugh.

It began as a small, startled chuckle when their eyes met, a brief escaping of nervous sound she couldn’t quite contain. And when Cas cracked a baffled grin, not understanding what was so funny in that moment but finding her smile contagious, she started to giggle in short, uncontrollable bursts. She couldn’t stop, and she was soon bent over at her middle, one hand around her waist and the other pawing at him as she struggled to breathe. The whole absurd situation, their preceding conversation, the horrible coffee, the abominable heatwave, everything hit Castiel at once and when coupled with her laughter, Lori’s shaking form doubled over and clawing at his arm, he lost it. In mere moments they had gone from awkwardly, stoically standing in silence to howling with laughter, clutching at each other’s arms like they were the last thing holding them up. 

“What the hell is happening here?”

Lori stood up straight, still huffing shallow, desperate breaths and wiping at a stray tear that stumbled down the side of her face. She looked at Daryl with a smile that stretched at the edges of her flushed, red cheeks, “Oh, just an early morning breakdown, nothing to worry about.”

“Lori brought me the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.” Castiel supplied, “And it’s too early. And hot." 

“And that’s funny to you?” Daryl looked annoyed, his eyes darting from Cas to Lori and back again, but Cas recognized the subtle playfulness underneath the bluster. “Y’all are the strangest group of people.” He muttered, shaking his head as he walked on by, “And you should probably put a lid on it. All that cackling’s gonna bring walkers down on us.” 

He wasn’t wrong, and Castiel wasn’t about to complain when he spotted Daryl ducking behind his tent, dropping something into the basket of dirty clothes he had left there last night, when Castiel was trying to make more room for _him_. Instead he smiled as he watched Daryl walk away, sauntering off into the forest like Cas hadn’t just caught him leaving a note in his laundry, his gaze trailing his receding back until he felt a thin, sharp elbow knock between his ribs.

“If you don’t want people to assume things that totally aren’t happening, you should probably watch the staring too.”

“Got it.”

“Excellent.”

 

* * *

 

 

Their walk through the woods had been relatively uneventful, no Croats to be found and all of the lines still secure. They mostly talked the whole time, Lori asking questions about his life before the turn and Castiel deflecting them back at her.

She would ask about his job, and he would ask her what life was like with her husband being the Sherriff. She would ask about his family, and he would ask her about Carl’s school, or her wedding. She asked about his home, and he would ask her about her neighbours, and their town. He didn’t think much of it; these were normal topics normal people spoke about to make it through the day, to bring a little normalcy back into their upturned lives. Trouble was, Castiel didn’t have a life he could talk about before all of this… he was a creature beyond humanities scope of conception, and then he wasn’t. There really was nothing he could give her in answer to those questions, and he was an exceptionally bad liar.

So he started going with half-truths. They were easier, he found, since he wasn’t technically lying, just omitting and twisting certain details. When she asked about his job, he told her he worked with the church (not a lie, not really. Servants of the church followed the word of God, as did he). When asked about his home, he told her he lived on the road with the Winchester’s (not a lie, he was with them more often than not, and they lived on the road). And when asked about his family, he told her he had a large number of brothers and sisters, but they were lost to him now (not a lie at all, he had been kicked out of heaven and ripped from the host, after all). And he found that when he gave her small pieces of information, she didn’t press as hard and was normally pretty satisfied with his answers.

Unless it had to do with his trip from Sioux Falls to Atlanta, that is. Then she didn’t seem to let up. He would try and give her the least information he possibly could, that would still seem like a viable answer but she wouldn’t have any of it. It was like she expected him to be hiding something, but he couldn’t figure out what she wanted him to say.

The truth of the matter was, his trip had been surprisingly uneventful. He had run into Croats of course, hell he had been hunted by demons till he made it out of Missouri, but he hadn’t seen any people. He didn’t run into any factions, or camps or groups of survivors like this one. It had got to the point where he started assuming there were no humans left on the continental United States.

And he knew how that must sound to these people, people like Lori who had undoubtedly experienced more loss and tragedy in the past few months than they had their whole lives, but who still didn’t know how bad it really was. To them, the end of the world was a temporary, fleeting thing and had only been happening for the past three months. To them, there had to be answers out there, more people, and a chance. But to Cas? He held on to no such hope. He knew there was no one coming for them, and when he heard Shane talk about Fort Benning and the army, or Rick talk about the CDC and a cure, it ate him up inside. Because he knew it was just a dream, a childish dream and reality was so much darker than they realized.

He couldn’t explain to her though, not without ruining her completely, that the world really was done for. So he bit his tongue and played it up, acting like it was all a big coincidence, like he was the luckiest man to ever walk this earth, that he never found another living soul till Georgia. And what was she to do? Call him a liar? Interrogate him? No. Of course she wouldn’t, how could she?

Castiel was certain she wasn’t the one asking either, that it was Rick who was trying to use her to get some information out of him, and he pitied her for it really. It was an awkward situation, and he could tell by her forced and stilted questions that she was uncomfortable with it. But there was nothing to be done. He just tried to give her what little information he could, which wasn’t a lot, and steer the conversation back to easier topics, like what his father was like, and if he ever missed his job.

He was getting better at small talk, he mused later, as he sat at the edge of the quarry scrubbing clothes in the shallow water. The women that he was working with poked fun at him a little for sitting directly in the water, but after only an hour in the blistering sun they had all joined him, sitting in water that barely covered their thighs and sighing gratefully as it lapped at their skin through their clothes. They seemed glad to have a man down with them washing the clothes, and had gone off on a bit of a tangent how unfair it was they were expected to slave over the dirty clothes just because they were female.

He didn’t talk much, mostly listened. He found he couldn’t get a word in edgewise for the most part when there were so many people talking, the conversation dominated mostly by Andrea and Jacqui, but he did chime in on occasion, usually with a smart ass remark that would get him a look back at Chitaqua. Not here though, here they just laughed or shot a playful, snide comment back and he smiled inwardly when he realized he was getting a better introduction to human interaction here in three weeks than he ever did in Sioux Falls.

These people had welcomed him so heartily, and he laid awake most nights debating if he deserved it. What the ramifications were of him accepting their generosity and kindness. He would lie there, wrapped against a softly snoring Daryl, and make lists in his head, pros and cons. Did this count as atonement, or not? Was this too much for him to take, or was it alright? Should he be allowed to fall in love, and be happy with another human (for he was now, completely human), or was he supposed to suffer till he died, alone? Wasn’t being and living as a human punishment enough? Could he have friends? Could he laugh? Could he cry?

He would lie awake and _think-think-think_ until he woke Daryl with the weight of his anxiety, his pensive mind running a million miles an hour, who would then pull him in tight. Who would run his fingers through Castiel’s hair and murmur sweet words against his temple, chasing the urgent whispers to the corners of his mind and lull him to an elusive sleep. A system of theirs it seemed, a perfect give and take, for one who could sleep to help the other who couldn’t. It changed every night, but it was enough to help Cas relax and remind him he didn’t need to get high, he didn’t need to fill the silence with the sound of rushing rivers. He could just curl up against Daryl’s side and be comforted under strong, work worn hands.

He couldn’t decide in the end, and he was tired of being exhausted with worry. So he had started to relax a little, to let himself make friends and be personable, and he had learned quite a bit. He began to learn more about the subtle nuances of human social interaction, what to say and when still eluding him, but he managed to read a room pretty skillfully now, which was something that _always_ escaped him. And he had begun to realize that his own special brand of deflection, his sarcastic, scathing wit, could actually serve him well if it was properly timed and not mean or cruel.

He was still learning however, so in situations such as this, where he was one in a group of many washing laundry in the shallows, he preferred to sit back and observe more than participate. Unless he was called out to speak, or he had something important to add, he watch and listen as Andrea spoke of the things she missed about her old life, others chiming in now and again, one answer from Carol eliciting such raucous laughter from the group that Castiel wished he had understood. It wasn’t until Andrea turned to him and asked what he missed most about his life before the turn that he was finally pulled into the conversation… and it was an unfortunate one.

His wings? His immortality? His ability to see all of time and space in an instant? His limitlessness? His connection to the host? His brothers and sisters? His father’s light? Paradise? Peace?

“I miss my coat.”

“Your coat.” It wasn’t a question, just an incredulous statement as all of the people around his stopped suddenly in what they were doing and turned to him slowly. He knew this cue, it was one of the ones he had begun to pick up, and he continued onward with the expected explanation.

“When I first met Dean and Sam, I used to have this… this trench coat. They thought it was awful, most people thought it was awful, but it was the only one I had so I wore it all the time. Literally, all the time. We were on the road a lot, I rarely took it off unless we were staying somewhere.” Cas smiled, looking down at the sopping wet shirt in his hands as he spoke, his mind fondly in his past, “It was this tan sort of colour, with these big black buttons and it was two sizes too big, it just kind of hung off of me. But I had it for so long, and I wore it so often it kind of became… this is ridiculous, but it kind of became a defining feature of mine. This big, ugly coat.” He looked up and scanned the circle of women around him, seeing a look of bemused understanding pass over their faces, and he chuckled softly, “So I think I miss it the most.”

“I know the exact coat you’re talking about,” Amy said, smiling at him from across the water, “our dad used to have the same one. And I have to say Cas, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Yeah Cas,” Andrea joined in, shaking her head playfully, “that was one _ugly_ coat. I thought you had better taste than that!”

“Right?” Wringing out a shirt in front of her, Amy gestured towards the clothes he was wearing at the moment, currently soaking wet and clinging uncomfortably, “Like you’re always dressed kind of badass. Band tees and ripped jeans, motorcycle boots… plaid, but like, cool plaid. How did you get from dad coat to this?”

Initially stumped by the question (how had he gotten to this anyways?), he only had to look down at what he was wearing to realize the answer. “Well most of my shirts are Dean’s.” He explained, “Ones he didn’t want anymore, or that were too small for him. Most of my pants are hand me downs too, from Chuck and another guy at camp. Anything I picked for myself… I just kind of chose what Dean and Sam wore. By the end of it, we had a pretty incestuous wardrobe.” With a bemused shrug, he went back to washing the shirt in his hand, “I guess the answer is I’m bad at dressing myself, so I had others do it for me.”

Amy tossed her head back with a laugh that rang out against the quarry cliffs, and Andrea joined her.

“I can understand that, about the coat, I mean.” Amy continued, wiping a sopping wet hand across her brow, “I had this pair of jeans, and they were _the_ most perfect pair of jeans…”

Grateful the conversation had sidelined, Castiel went back to his work, happily immersing himself in it while he listened to Amy talk about her perfect jeans. He almost didn’t notice Carol sidling up to him, until she was dropping a slightly damp piece of paper into the palm of his hand and for the second time that day his stomach dropped faster than he could catch it.

How could he forget about the note?

“I think this is yours,” She whispered, not looking him in the eye but keeping her voice down so only he could here, “I found it in your clothes, and managed to save it before it got ruined.” She didn’t stay long, only there to return his scrap of paper but as she was leaving she hesitated. “I didn’t read it,” she said, “I didn’t want to intrude.” And like that she was gone, back in her spot near the shore, and Castiel didn’t think he had felt so grateful in a very long time.

It took hours for them to finish, Lori hadn’t been kidding about the backlog, and by the time they had to call it in, it was already getting dark. Trudging up the hill with his laundry slung under his arm, Cas broke from the group and doubled back to his tent, leaving a dripping trail of water behind him and soaked depressions of his bare feet. He had made a hurried excuse, that he had to change or drop something off, and wasted no time tearing into his tent, stripping out of his wet jeans and reading at the same time:

_“Your lips have splashed my dull house with the speech of flowers_

_My hands are hallowed where they touched over your_

_soft curving._

_It is good to be weary from that brilliant work_

_It is being God to feel your breathing under me.”_

A longer one this time, one he recognised. With a smile on his face, Cas dropped it in the back pack with the others, halfway through pulling on a new pair of pants when he heard the tent flap rustle and a familiar voice reassuring him it wasn’t a Croat.

He got his jeans up past his hips but left them unbuttoned, instead spreading out on his back against the layers of sleeping bags and pillows, hands thrown haphazardly on either side of his head as he watched Daryl step into the tent. Cas smirked as he watched his eyes trail up the length of his body, pausing noticeably at his unbuttoned fly and continuing onwards, Daryl licking his lips when he finally reached his face.

“How did you know I was here?” Castiel asked as Daryl zipped the tent shut behind him, dropping his bow at the foot of the tent before crawling along his torso, stopping to nip at his hipbone before moving on. Daryl hovered above him, elbows supporting him on either side of Castiel’s head, his eyes dark and Cas could feel as his heart thrummed with anticipation.

Daryl hummed as he dipped down to kiss him, a chaste peck on the lips before flopping over onto his side, propping his head in his hand as he stared down at Castiel. “I had a hunch.” Daryl said distractedly, sliding his fingers along Cas’ jawline, thumbing the cleft of his chin as he tilted his head to face him, “How’d everything go today?”

“Fine.” Cas replied tersely, forcing a smile onto his face. What else could he say? That Lori knows, but she promised not to say anything to anyone? Or that Carol might also? That would go over well. So instead he ducked his head and pressed his lips to the pad of Daryl’s thumb, kissing softly before letting his lips fall apart, taking it between them and sucking gently. Castiel held his gaze as he flattened his tongue against the rough digit, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth with a well-timed suck, and huffed a moan against the intrusion when he watched Daryl’s eyes glaze over and his mouth fell slack. With one last teasing lick he gave him back his thumb, kissing the tip and sighing as Daryl ran it along his bottom lip, pulling down gently. “Better now that the sun is down. How was slogging through the forest all day?”

“Don’t remind me,” Daryl groused, removing his hand and collapsing onto his back with a huff. He pinched the fabric of his shirt between two fingers and fanned it, grimacing as it peeled back from his skin, damp with cooling sweat, “I can’t remember a summer like this, man. I mean it’s always hot, but it’s never been _this_ hot. One good thing to come from it though is the walkers, I guess. Ain’t no way they gonna keep in this heat… they’ll be easier to take down as they rot.”

With a smile, Castiel rolled to his knees, shuffling to close the distance between them as he straddled Daryl’s hips and sat back on his heels. “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. It’s too bad you couldn’t join me in the water.” Cas ran his hands firmly down Daryl’s chest, fingers splayed and catching on the pockets before he went to work on the buttons. He popped each one free from their confines, skirting his fingers against the softly curling hair of Daryl’s stomach, the center of his chest, ghosting against his skin and feeling the gentle rise of goosebumps under his caress. “I just found your note, while I was finishing up actually. Barely managed to save it before it was lost in the water, but I’m glad I did. I think it’s my favorite so far.”

“I-ah, I had a feeling you’d like it,” Groaning under his touch, Daryl’s hips bucked upwards as Cas swiped a thumb over his nipple, “that you’d have a thing for the Beats.” He hissed through his teeth as Castiel ducked down, kissing coyly along his collarbone, “I’ve left you pieces of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Byron, John Donne, and Coleridge… but I knew Patchen would be your favorite, you hippie.” Daryl punctuated that last remark with a firm slap to Castiel’s rear and he moaned, forehead pressed to Daryl’s chest as his hand stayed where it was, groping at the swell of his ass through the taut, stretched fabric of his jeans.

Castiel nipped at his neck, rolling his hips back as both of Daryl’s hands snaked into the back of his jeans, fingers grasping firmly and pushing downwards, grinding their hips together and pulling matching gasps from the both of them. “I liked it, because it felt so…” Cas pressed a few sweet kisses against his cheeks as he searched for the right words, “appreciative. It made me almost uncomfortable to read it, knowing it was from you, because I didn’t feel like I deserved such praise.”

Cupping Daryl’s face in both hands, he kissed him deeply, their tongues twining and he could feel the rumble of the other man’s chest beneath him, swallowing the resounding groan as he felt Daryl’s hands slide up his sides to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When he broke away, Daryl was gently stroking his cheekbone with his thumb, and Castiel couldn’t help but lean shyly into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed and his lashes resting heavy overtop his cheeks.

“But it’s my favorite, mostly because I like to think Patchen had put into words exactly what you’re feeling, well before you were even born.” Cas sat back on his heels once more, his hands leveraging him up in the center of Daryl’s chest, eyes opening just barely, just enough to stare down at him as he spoke, “And knowing that I can make you feel that powerful, and alive…” he walked his fingers down Daryl’s chest to the button of his fly, rolling it between his fingers before loosening it with a flick of his wrist, “only inspires me to do it more.”

He gasped as Daryl surged upwards, capturing his lips in a demanding kiss, his hands grappling at Castiel’s waist as he pivoted his hips, depositing Cas on his back against the pillows and slotting himself between his thighs. Daryl kissed him breathlessly, insistently as he nibbled at Castiel’s lower lip, licking into his mouth and rasping against his tongue, fervent as he always was and Cas could do nothing but hold on to his shoulders, keening desperately against him.

“You have no idea,” Daryl panted as he broke away, his eyes wild and face flushed, “no idea, what you do to me.” He mouthed along Castiel’s jaw to the column of his neck, nipping and kissing, soothing with his tongue in spots where he worked too long, too hard. Cas arched up against him, tilting his head to the side as he continued downward, his fingers clenching and unclenching against Daryl’s shoulders, running along his clothed back and fisting in his hair.

He adored him like this, when Daryl would work down every inch of flesh he could find, touching every piece of him as if it were the first time he’d seen it. There was no rush right now, and as unrelenting as his touches were they were safe in this tent, sequestered from the rest of the camp, at a time when no one would come looking for them. These were Castiel’s favorite moments, and he was spoiled with them nightly. When they could take their time and forget the anxiety and the fear of being caught, the hurried longing of their days apart crashing into a slow, peaceful night. No quickie in the woods, both of them on full alert for people and Croats alike could compare to this.

Worrying at his hipbone with his tongue, Daryl hooked his fingers under the waistband of his jeans and boxers, shimmying them downwards. Castiel canted his hips upwards, letting him tug them down his thighs and accidentally knocking Daryl in the chin in the process, clacking his teeth together. Castiel couldn’t help the snort of laughter that bubbled from his throat, clasping a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement as Daryl shot him a teasingly perturbed look. “Prosti,” he smiled sheepishly, gasping when Daryl gave him a quick nip to his inner thigh, before working his pants down to his knees, to his ankles, peppering soft kisses along the backs of his calves as he freed each leg.

Castiel was breathing low in his chest, deep sighing breaths as Daryl crawled back up his legs, running his hands along the firm muscles of his thighs, digging in deep with thumbs and fingers, kissing the spaces in between as he moved. His head was swimming, eyes drifting closed as he felt the other man work across his body, tender caresses and kisses turning his limbs to putty, drooping soft and supple into the makeshift mattress below them. His own hands carded gingerly through Daryl’s hair, and Cas relished the groans he wrested from him as he scraped his fingernails gently across his scalp, down the subtle curve of his jaw, the side of his throat.

He felt Daryl tap two fingers firmly against his thigh, heard his panting voice as he told him to roll over onto his stomach. Castiel did as he was told, gritting his teeth against a low whimper as his erection pressed into the sleeping bags beneath him. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t keep himself from rolling his hips in a slow, lazy grind as Daryl fished through his bag, returning with hot, wet kisses against the back of Castiel’s neck and slick fingers dipping between his cheeks. Cas sighed gently as he felt that first finger circle him, prodding gently before finally sinking in, his head pillowed in his arms as he watched Daryl over his shoulder, and Daryl watched him back.

Daryl was always almost maddeningly gentle, liking to go slow and take his time, hyperaware of any discomfort Castiel might otherwise try to hide. It was why they would never fuck outside of this tent, when they were strapped for time and privacy, choosing instead to rut against each other or trade hand jobs for blow jobs, or any combination of the three. He was too afraid to hurt him, too unwilling to take the chance and not at all comfortable enough to be okay with any penetration himself. But on nights like this, when he could pace himself, when he could work Cas open until he was aching for him, pleading against the pillows with clenching fists, he delighted in it.

Castiel could see it in Daryl’s face in that moment, at every gasp and moan he wrenched from him, every roll of his hips into the mattress below, every whimper and shudder as Daryl pressed in deeper, sparking electricity inside of him that roiled outwards and curled his toes against the sleeping bags. His eyes were liquid fire, his breath molten puffs that scorched the heights of Castiel’s cheeks, and as he pressed in with a third finger Castiel surged towards him, slotting their mouths together, kissing him deeply and rolling along his tongue.

“I-is cummings a Beat poet?” Castiel stuttered as they broke apart, asking earnestly in the heady darkness of the tent.

“Are you serious right now?” Daryl asked disbelievingly, his fingers stilling and Cas whined, angling his hips back against his knuckles. When Cas just looked at him imploringly, he huffed a laugh and with a shake of his head, he began working his fingers once more. “Ah, um no, he wasn’t, he was a little too early for that he—” Daryl cut off with a groan as he felt Castiel clench around his fingers, dropping his forehead to the back of his shoulder as he huffed a few deep breaths, and Castiel could feel his still clothed erection digging into his hip as he thrust helplessly against him, “he was technically considered a modernist, but he did a lot of other stuff too, I guess. Jesus, Cas!”

He had rolled onto his side as Daryl spoke, not enough to dislodge his fingers, but enough that he could snake a hand between their bodies and into the unbearable confines of Daryl’s pants, curling a fist around his cock. He nosed at the underside of Daryl’s jaw, licking a hot line down the side of his throat as he stroked him firmly, as best as he could in such tight quarters. With a grimace, he pushed at Daryl’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back and pulling his fingers free with a wet suck that sent tremors up his spine and had Daryl whimpering as he groped uselessly at his waist.

“You wrote me a few lines of one of his poems,” Cas murmured as he mouthed across his chest artlessly, breaking only to divest him of his pants, “I don’t know which one it was, but I recognized the syntax.” He dipped his tongue against the space just under his navel, and smiled as Daryl bucked and groaned, “It’s still in that bag, could you?” He motioned with his free hand to the blue backpack in the corner of the tent, the other busy as he gripped the base of Daryl’s cock, pressing his lips up the shaft in soft, barely there kisses.

“You’re not…” Daryl trailed off, rising to his elbows as he looked down at Castiel, his expression torn between steadfast disbelief and raucous arousal, “Oh, you’re serious. Fucking hell, Cas.” With a huff and a brilliant red flush that spread from the tip of his nose across his cheeks, he groped around for the backpack, dragging it towards him and plunging his hand inside it.

The second his hand disappeared into the bag, Daryl’s brows shot up and he cast him quizzical look. Curious, he held it open so he could look inside and Castiel had to stop what he was doing, had to watch his face with rapt attention as a small, heartfelt smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re such a sap,” Daryl teased, pulling away from the bag and turning back to Cas, tangling his fingers in his hair, “You didn’t have to keep them, they’re just scraps of paper.”

Castiel shook his head fervently, his hand still wrapped around the base of Daryl’s cock and looking up at him with wide eyes, in a way that had the other man clenching his jaw, his own eyes dark and stormy. “I couldn’t just throw them out, I adore them. I’ve never… no one has ever done anything so romantic for me before.” Cas explained softly as he tore his eyes from Daryl’s face, returning to the task at hand, flattening his tongue against the underside of his cock and licking tantalizingly slow from root to tip, letting his lips wrap briefly around the head before pulling off with a wet pop. “Never in my life. And besides, what would I do in situations like this when I wanted to read them again if I didn’t keep them?”

Daryl shook his head disbelievingly, smiling as he tucked a wayward curl behind Castiel’s ear. “I carry your heart with me,” he whispered the first line of e.e. cummings’ poem softly, his voice lilting upwards at the end as Cas swallowed him down, swirling his tongue around the head and hollowing his cheeks, “I carry it in my h-heart.” He bucked weakly, his head lolling from shoulder to shoulder as Cas’ head bobbed in his lap, lazily, his hand stroking what he couldn’t manage.

“No fate,” Daryl groaned, throwing his head back as Cas took him deeper, swollen head nudging the back of his throat, “for you are my fate…” He trailed off with a deep inhale, whimpering when Castiel pulled off of him completely, watching him in the dark as he groped for the lube, warming it in his hands before slicking Daryl up and straddling his hips. “I want no world,” His voice was heavy with admiration, lying flat against the pillows and running his hands down Castiel’s sides, thumbs circling the juncture of his thighs as Cas lined him up, lowering himself slowly onto him. “For beautiful you are my world,” he breathed.

Castiel groaned as he rocked his hips, fully seated and burning hot, his hands flattened against Daryl’s chest. He felt Daryl’s fingers dig into his hips as he moved, felt the tensing of his muscles under his palms, the rolling of his hips between his thighs. Cas was aching, drawn taut like a bow and he could see through the dark that Daryl fared no better, his mouth slack and working around nothing, shoulders heaving with each laboured breath as he was strangled in Castiel’s tight, wet grasp.

“And it's—fuck, Cas…” Daryl whined in his throat, tossing his head to the side, face against the pillow, “You are whatever a m-moon has… Jesus, has always meant.” He was panting, his thighs vibrating against the need to thrust up into him, and Castiel could feel him straining against his hands, willing him to move.

Castiel rolled his hips, sliding upwards as he bore down on his hands, just barely catching the head of Daryl’s cock against his rim before dropping down, his back curving inward as Daryl brushed deeper inside of him, sending shivers up his spine and racing down his thighs. His hair was plastered to his forehead, the tent steamy as they breathed in tandem, Daryl guiding his hips with his hands and setting a steady pace, slow and languid.

He cried out as Daryl wrapped his fingers around his neglected cock at the same time he thrust upwards into him, Castiel’s thighs shuddering as he rocked back and forth, his eyes fluttering and sweat beading against his temples. “Castiel,” He heard Daryl whisper beneath him, the sound of his full name in that voice, from that mouth cutting through him, stirring his movements and quickening his pace.

As he opened his eyes and looked down at the man beneath him, his icy blue eyes blown wide and his lips parted around a steady litany of his name, Castiel was hit with an abrupt, chilling wave of self-consciousness. His thin, red tee shirt (not Dean’s this time, thank goodness) clung to him like a second skin, damp with sweat and uncomfortably restrictive in the heat of their tent. It suddenly seemed so silly to him, so juvenile, that he couldn’t take his shirt off when they were like this. That he suffered through the heat and the discomfort, and for what? Because he didn’t trust Daryl not to look at his back?

That was asinine and he knew it. He trusted Daryl since the moment he saved him from that very first Croat. Since he helped him through one of the hardest physical ailments of his short, human life. Since he chased him through the woods, on the heels of a creature he had only learned about moments before. Way before they were ever this intimate. So what was he doing, still holding on to this compulsion like a security blanket? He trusted this man more than anyone else, he trusted him enough to be with him… shouldn’t he trust him enough to be naked in front of him?

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Daryl asked as Castiel stilled, sitting up with Cas in his lap, one hand around his waist and the other cupping his chin. He must have looked deeply pensive, if the worried expression of Daryl’s face was any indication, but he didn’t want to speak. He ached for release, his body thrumming and desperate to feel Daryl’s hands on him, to have him moving inside of him instead of seated and still as he was now. Instead, he reached for the hem of his shirt, grasping it tight and tugging it over his head until he felt a warm hand stop him. “Cas, you don’t have to…” Daryl murmured, pulling his arm down so he could look him in the eye.

“I know I don’t have to,” Castiel replied, stirring into motion once more, desperate for the steady rise and fall of his hips, for the stretch and pull of Daryl inside of him, “but I want to, just don’t—” With a groan and a shudder he felt Daryl nudge against his prostate, heard the other man choke out a broken moan as his muscles clenched and fluttered around him, “don’t touch my shoulders, and I’ll be fine.”

With a nod, Daryl released his arm and Cas tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it to the other side of the tent before he could change his mind. Still sitting up straight, Castiel straddling his lap as he rode him excruciatingly slow, Daryl ran his hand reverently down Castiel’s bare chest, peppering gentle kisses against his heated skin, before pulling back and tugging at his own shirt.

Before Cas could protest, it was off and in the corner of the tent with his own discarded tee. “You should probably,” Daryl ducked his head, mouthing at his throat as Castiel picked up the pace, moving his hips faster, his hands clenching and unclenching uselessly against Daryl’s chest, “just avoid touching my back at all, okay?” He looked up at Cas imploringly, and he answered with a desperate nod, his heart swelling with affection as his breathing grew harsh and laboured.

Cautiously, Daryl wrapped a hesitating arm around Castiel’s waist, his hand resting against the center of his back and for the first time he pressed their naked torsos against each other, a long groan ripping from his throat at the feel of skin on skin. Castiel was floored; they had done this so many times, they were in the middle of having sex and yet the feel of their naked skin pressed together for the first time was more intimate than anything they had ever done. Cas was completely bared to him, and Daryl was bared to him in return, and he could feel that telltale heat building as he sank down onto him, Daryl hitting that spot that made his head swim and his eyes roll back.

He wasn’t going to last, between the new sensation of being pressed up against each other, his swollen cock dragging against Daryl’s abdomen with each steady rise and fall of his hips, and the way Daryl was now thrusting up into Castiel, nailing his prostate each time, he was hurtling towards that familiar abyss. Castiel leaned his head forward, panting desperately as he mashed their lips together unceremoniously, a clash of lips and tongue, interspersed with low, keening whines as he felt Daryl grapple at his back, fingers digging and pressing as his hips thrust up fast and sporadic, their leisurely climb all but abandoned as they fumbled for each other in the dark.

Daryl tore his mouth away, leaning his forehead against Castiel’s as he trembled underneath his hips, shuddering breaths ghosting across Cas’ cheeks as the moved against one another. “Cas, I’m gonna – shit, I’m gonna come.” Daryl groaned, his hands slipping down Castiel’s back to his ass, holding on as his hips faltered. Castiel could feel himself hovering at the precipice of orgasm, and with one last rock of his hips he came hard against Daryl’s abdomen, crying out his name in a desperate moan.

“Cas, fuck, I–” Daryl choked out unintelligibly, burying his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck as he thrust his hips flush against his ass, coming with a sharp pulse that shook through his body, his muscles dancing under his skin and his hips twitching upwards weakly against Cas’.

Groaning weakly, Cas pitched forward as Daryl sunk back, rolling gracelessly off to the side. He shuddered as Daryl slipped from him, turning onto his side and lolling his head against the pillow, reaching out for him against the darkness of the tent, the moon and stars dim in the sky. With a breathless laugh, Daryl caught his searching hand, tugging gently and folding him into his arms as Castiel tucked his head under his chin.

They laid there in their resolute, comfortable silence as they caught their breath, coming back to themselves amidst the sound of crickets, cracklings fires, and jovial, far off voices. Castiel smiled serenely as he felt Daryl’s fingers ghosting across his side, his knuckles dragging lightly across his bare stomach, the thin skin stretched across his ribs. If he’d known how much of a difference it made, how much that frivolous layer of fabric had impeded them, he would have done away with it long ago.

“And whatever a sun will always sing is you.” Daryl muttered softly against his temple, continuing his recitation where he left off, much to Castiel’s delight as he brushed away the thick strands of hair that were stuck to his forehead and replaced them with a gentle kiss, “Here is the deepest secret nobody knows… and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.” Castiel curled his fingers weakly against the nape of his neck, bumping at his chin with his nose, until Daryl tilted his head down and let himself be kissed. “I carry your heart.” Daryl breathed gently, “I carry it in—”

A scream echoed through the camp, cutting him off and shocking them out of their skin, followed by a cacophony of chilling moans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sun Rising - John Donne  
> As We Are So Wonderfully Done with Each Other - Kenneth Patchen  
> [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] - e.e. cummings


	11. All the way from the Martha Berry Highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back from my wild American vacation! Thank you all for being so patient, I am going to try to get back into my weekly (maybe twice a week, depending on how swamped work is) updates, so no more week long breaks... until the next vacation lol
> 
> As always, your comments are very much appreciated! I do enjoy reading them, and will try to reply to all of them when I get the chance. This chapter is doubling as an apology for the nasty cliffhanger in the last one ;) There's some cute Dariel (I love it!) moments, but also the introduction of a pretty major plot point, so keep your eyes peeled!

“What the hell was that?!” Castiel sat up like a shot, wrestling his shirt over his head and tossing Daryl’s at him. He scrambled into his jeans as Daryl rushed to get dressed, grabbing knives and guns and bows in a flurry of movement. The screaming didn’t stop, it only got louder and more insistent, other voices joining the first in a deafening chorus.

The question hung in the air, not needing to be answered as there wasn’t a doubt in Castiel’s mind what had happened. It was obvious from the shuffling moans of Croats rang out under the voices of the terrified living, and when he turned to look at Daryl, his blades in hand, he found the hunter looking back with a grim determination he was certain matched his own. Cas could only imagine how many had already made it to the campfire where everyone was gathered, and as he tugged his boots onto his feet he silently prayed they weren’t too late.

“How many do you think are out there?” Castiel whispered, watching Daryl closely as he loaded his bow, lips drawn into a thin line and head cocked as he listened.

“Too many.” Was his succinct reply, “Least a dozen, maybe more?" 

“They must have come from the south, otherwise they would have hit the trap lines.” Castiel attested, crouching low and fingers flexing around the hilt of his blades, “We should loop around through the woods, cut them off just as they hit the fire.”

Nodding, Daryl unzipped the tent with steady hands, his breathing calm and controlled. They shared one last look, and with a wave of Daryl’s hand Castiel shot out of the tent right into the arms of a Croat.

Castiel surged upwards, driving his angel blade into the underside of the Croats jaw, the shambling corpse of an old man. It lifted with the blade, its toes barely skirting the dirt below and when Cas pulled back it crumpled forward, barely missing Daryl as he darted out of the tent, shooting an arrow into the socket of the Croat behind it.

They were able to pick off the five in the clearing relatively quickly. They worked well together, something they had discovered very soon after meeting, and there was hardly ever any need for verbal communication. A pointed look, and Castiel knew Daryl wanted him to take the rear. A jerk of his jaw, and Daryl knew to get down and out of the way of Cas’ powerful, arching blade arm as he took down a Croat that was stumbling behind him. With a series of glances and hand gestures, Castiel had conveyed across the crescendo of gun shots and screams that the creatures were moving in from the hillside. And with a responding clenching of his jaw, a firm hand on Cas’ shoulder and two fingers gestured into the woods Daryl managed to direct Castiel through the woods towards the fire.

Gun shots echoed through the trees, and Cas heard Shane shouting above the cacophony of terrified shrieks, yelling for them to “get back,” to “get in the RV!”

When they broke out of the treeline, Castiel’s breath caught in his throat.

There were already so many of them dead. Cas could see Amy lying prone by the RV with Andrea looming above her, seemingly separate from the chaos around them, a quiet vignette in comparison. Through the rows of tents, dozens of Croats swarmed the campsite, clumsy and grabbing, converging on the fire as the few who could fight tried desperately to hold them back. Lori and Carol clung to their children, huddled behind Shane who was armed only with a shotgun, picking off what he could as he tried to shield the four of them the with his own body. The Morales children were grasping at their mother, curled in tight against her shaking form, their little grabbing hands and whining cries a mockery of the dead that circled them as she sobbed, trying in vain to hold each of her children in the protective circle of her arms.

Quickly scanning the camp he saw Jim and Morales beating the Croats back, armed with baseball bats and bravado. He caught sight of Dale and Shane with their guns, backs to the fire and running low on ammo. That was it. Those were the only ones defending the camp, the rest were Croat food or incapable of fighting themselves.

They were so outnumbered he didn’t know where to begin.

“Daryl!” Castiel barked, flying into action with a point of his blade, gesturing to the RV, “There’s more coming up the south side, head for that tent and pick them off as they round the hill!” With a curt nod, Daryl took off running. Cas sprinted for the fire, skidding to a halt behind a woman in her nightgown, slashing with his hunting knife and severing its spinal cord, sending it flying forward, teeth still gnashing but unable to move. He reeled backward, pivoting on his heel and slamming his angel blade into the forehead of another corpse, kicking up with his right foot and knocking it backwards off of his blade.

“Dale!” He called out across the din, “Daryl is picking them off at the hill but he’s not going to have enough ammo to last him.” Castiel didn’t need to explain further, as soon as the words left his mouth Dale was hiking across the camp, smashing the butt of his rifle into a dangerously large Croat’s nose, taking point opposite Daryl amidst the parked cards.

Turning his attention to the other two around the fire, he quickly got Morales at the rear, flanking the group of women and children with himself and Shane. They moved slowly, picking off the Croats that descended on them as fast as they could, but the waves were overwhelming, and they weren’t all coming from the same direction. Some had made it past their defenses already, turning the corner of the RV where neither Daryl nor Dale could reach them.

Cas clapped his hand on Shane’s shoulder, holding his free hand up as the man whirled towards him, the butt of his shotgun ready to crack his assailant in the head. Instant recognition flared in his eyes, and Cas breathed an inward sigh of relief, “Shane, they’ve looped around the RV and there’s a wave of them moving in from the east! I’ve got this group, Morales and I can circle around the fire, I need you to take them out!”

“I’m not leaving Lori and Carl!” Shane snarled, turning back to take out two more Croats that were fast approaching, and Castiel grabbed his shoulder again, harder this time.

“If we don’t cut off the herd heading for us, they won’t stand a chance!” Cas shouted, shaking him none too gently as he spoke, “We don’t have the numbers, and if they group up we are done for, do you hear me!? You have a gun, you can pick them off as they come around the RV!” He could see the hesitation in his eyes, the burning desire to be the protector warring with his rationality. Castiel relaxed his grip, looking up at Shane imploringly, “I’ll look out for them Shane, I will guard them with my life. You have my word, I promise I’ll keep them safe until you get back.”

With a firm set jaw, Shane nodded, breaking away from Lori and Carl’s grip and sprinting towards the Winnebago, pausing briefly to knock out two more shots. Yelling to Morales to get in tight around the group, Cas spared a quick glace to the south side of the camp, his heart dropping as he watched Daryl get swarmed by three Croats, cracking one of them in the head with the back of his bow and shooting another point blank through the jaw.

Don’t think about that, you don’t have the luxury, Cas thought frantically, forcing himself to focus on the crying women and children behind him, on Carl’s small fingers knotting in belt loops of his jeans. There were four Croats fast approaching, three from the right and one from the left, one of them looking like he was a heavyweight boxer in his life, and he had to act fast before they got corralled.

With a shout Castiel lunged forward, ripping out of Carl’s grasp and with both blades brandished he swung at the closest Croat he could reach. The very tip of his blade sliced at its throat, and it gurgled around blackened, rotting blood, but it kept moving forward with a sudden lurch, its fingers closing in a vice grip on Cas’ shirt. Steadying himself, he threw his forearm up under its chin, spinning the hunting knife in his right hand, and with a reverse grip he reared and plunged the knife into the side of its head, squelching down to the hilt.

Lori screeched his name, and to his right he saw the body of a young man descending toward them, its pallid fingers and torn up nails wriggling in front of it. Heaving the hunting knife forward, still firmly lodged in the dead Croats skull Cas swung on his heel, his arm moving in a wide arc and the angel blade clutched in his left hand connected with its forehead, the bone underneath shuddering and giving way with the force of the blow.

Castiel swayed, the weight of two lifeless bodies wedged onto both blades pulling him back, threatening to take his feet out from under him. With a pained groan he bore forward, feeling his shoulders creak under the pressure, digging his heels into the dirt in a wide stance, and he gasped with relief when he felt the skulls splinter and give, his knives free and him still standing.

“Cas, your left!” Lori shouted, pointing and clutching her son to her chest. Spinning swiftly, stance low and both knives in reverse grip, Castiel slashed in a wide, upwards arc, catching the Croat in the jaw and sending it down onto its back. Pitching forward, angel blade held high, ready to drop down and finish the creature, Cas grunted in surprise when the mammoth Croat sidelined him, catching him in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground.

He didn’t have time to catch his breath before the monstrous corpse landed on top of him, clawing for his face and teeth snapping at his jaw. Cas cried out, his knees flying upwards, squished between his chest and the body on top of him as he clawed at its shoulders, pushing desperately. It was heavy, so much stronger than a half rotted bag of bones had any right to be, and he struggled to keep that gnashing maw away from his flesh. In the distance, through the ringing of blood pounding in his ears he thought he heard new voices, more gunshots, but his focus was firmly set on the monster writhing above him.

“Cas!” He didn’t know whose voice that was, but it was terrified and hysterical, registering only seconds before the other Croat he had knocked on its ass lurched at him from his left. With a desperate shout, he threw his elbow up, catching it in the juncture under its chin, holding its face inches from his own. He needed to act fast, he couldn’t be stuck for much longer before he ran out of energy and one or both of two Croats managed to take a bite out of him.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he pushed up as hard as he could with his knees, using the solid weight of the ground under his back as leverage to shove the giant corpse away from his face. Freeing his arms momentarily, he flipped the blade in his right hand, swinging across his chest and stabbing the one off to his side in the temple, ripping the knife out the moment he felt it still. His thighs burned, and as the Croat above him reared down once more, he felt his knees fall apart. Cas gasped wildly, eyes clenched as he drew his arms up in front of his face and braced himself for impact… but it never came.

When Castiel opened his eyes, the Croat was knocked over on its side, a bullet through its temple from the pistol clutched in T-Dog’s white knuckled hand. And standing over top of him, breathing heavy like she had finished running a marathon was Lori, hands splayed out in front of her with tears in her eyes, as Carl clutched to the waist of her jeans. She’d shoved it off of him, and despite how drained he was, he beamed with pride.  

He wanted to tell her so, but instead he just took her hand when it was offered to him and let himself be pulled to his feet and into her arms. “Don’t ever, ever do something so stupid again!” She admonished, her fists clenching in his shirt, “Taking on four of them at once, by yourself, what were you thinking!?”

When Castiel pulled back, hands on her shoulders he gave her a weak little smile and shrugged. “You and Carl are safe, Carol and Sophia are safe… that’s what I was thinking.” He spoke softly, breaking away and looking around the camp, “I’d do it again.”

“Of course you would.” She relented with a sigh, starting as Carl ran forward, clutching to and burying his face in Castiel’s side. Cas moved both knives to one hand, dropping his hand to Carl’s head and running his fingers through the boys hair, soothing him as he took stock of the damage.

There were bodies everywhere.

Ones he recognized, ones he didn’t. This herd had rolled through and decimated the camp, tents knocked over, blood splattered in the dirt. He saw Andrea still by the RV, huddled over and shoulders shaking, and when he saw it was Amy’s fresh corpse she knelt over he brought the back of his hand to his mouth as he choked on short sob. Carol, the Morales’ and Sophia were clinging to each other by the fire, and the people who had just made it back from Atlanta just stood stunned, absolutely dumbfounded. It had happened so fast, as these things were wont to do. Just a few short minutes and their lives had been upended once more.

Carl broke away from him, running towards his father, and with one last pat to his shoulder Lori took off after him. Castiel caught sight of Daryl from across the camp, smiling somberly and glad to see him alive when he heard footsteps beside him. He turned, now face to face with Shane who was staring at him with a look of resignation.

“That was the right call you made.” Shane spoke sullenly, looking down at him with big, dark eyes that reminded him painfully of Sam, “And you kept your word, you kept them safe. Thank you.”

Castiel just stared grimly, nodding his response but not speaking. Thank you, he thought, thank you for what?

They had lost so many, and even more were still dying. He could see them, lying on the ground, propped up against trees, surrounded by wailing loved ones, trying desperately to stop the bleeding of whatever mortal wounds they had suffered, like they wouldn’t die anyways from the inevitable fever. He could see poor Amy, lying pallid and newly dead on the ground, could hear Andrea crying her name, sobbing her grief to the newly silent night. His fingers twitched, and he ached to go to them, each of them. To lay his hands on their head and burn the infection from their body. To skirt his fingers along their wounds and stitch their skin. He longed to whisper a word in Andrea’s ear, a small piece of celestial comfort, to show her the peace that awaits Amy in the afterlife. But he couldn’t, not anymore.

He never felt more human than he did in that moment. 

It made him sick.

With a clap on his shoulder, Shane walked away. And just like that, Cas was alone. Standing by the fire, surrounded by the bodies of his friends, the devastated living and the undead, his blades clattered to the ground. His head still rang with the beating of his heart, the blood rushing through his ears and he was struck with the sudden realization that he couldn’t do anything to help them. These people who had cared for him, taken him in and accepted him as their own… people he knew and cared for, scattered, dead and gone in an instant. And there was nothing he could do for them, not even when they needed him the most.

Leaving his weapons in the dirt he darted into the woods.

 

* * *

 

It was carnage, Daryl mused as he scanned the campsite. He counted at least thirteen of their own dead on the ground, Amy soon to join them as she gurgled and sobbed in her sister’s arms. Walkers lay everywhere, scattered across the hill of the quarry, along the camp… a whole hoard of them, smaller than what he and Cas saw on the way to Chattanooga, but the same basic principle. A group of them, drawn together by sound and smell, wandering across country and making their way through the forest. A small part of him wondered if maybe this was a small group that splintered off from that herd. He decided not to think too hard on it.

Rick and the rest had made it back with the guns just in time, diving in and saving the day before they all managed to get swept away in the hoard. Daryl had caught sight of Castiel only briefly, taking on a huge mother-fucker and bodily shielding Rick’s wife and kid… but as he looked around now, he couldn’t find him anywhere. He hadn’t seen Cas take down the giant Croat either, but there he was with a bullet wound in his head, surrounded by three other bodies, and no Castiel in sight. Daryl tried to calm himself, school his breathing as he looked around. It’s okay, he’s probably just off somewhere, helpin’ someone out, he thought to himself with only an edge of panic. There’s no body, that’s gotta count for something right?

But it didn’t, and he found himself stooping in the dirt near the big walker, scanning the ground for Castiel’s footprints, hand prints, blood, anything. There was quite a scuffle, he noted, the big guy had taken him down, and he manage to kill another while fighting him off. “Where did you go, you tough son of a bitch?” Daryl murmured warmly under his breath, running his hands across the ground, following his footsteps until he reached both of Castiel’s knives, blood soaked and abandoned on the ground.

That terror he was keeping just out of arms reach was right up in his face in an instant, as Daryl felt his blood run cold at the sight of them. No way Cas would just drop them, would he? They were on him at all times, they were like extensions of his arms whenever they were out in the forest. He was so careful, always prepared for an ambush, he wouldn’t just leave them behind, especially not now. Not in the middle of the night, in the dark, after this attack that left them reeling. 

“He went off into the woods,” Carol said meekly, and Daryl started as he realized she was even there at all. She sat silently by the fire, her little girl curled into her chest, weeping quietly into her mother’s blouse. “Cas, he dropped his knives and ran off into the woods.”

Daryl froze momentarily, that familiar, ugly dread rousing in the back of his mind, telling him to deny he was looking for Cas, to say that he didn’t care, that she was an idiot for assuming. But he beat it down, breathing steady as he reminded himself she was just observing what he was clearly doing… he was looking for a friend. She didn’t know. No one knew. They were safe. He muttered a hasty thank you, gathering both of Castiel’s blades in hand and taking off into the wilderness before she could say anything more.

It didn’t take Daryl long to find him, he wasn’t trying to hide. Cas had stumbled a short ways through the trees, emerged into the clearing with their tents and immediately dropped to the ground. An that’s just how Daryl found him, in the middle of the clearing next to those first few walkers they had killed, outside of the tent where they had made love not even half an hour ago, sitting cross legged with his head in his hands, talking to himself under his breath.

Castiel was strange, and even Daryl (who adored him more than he actually wanted to let on) had to admit that he had his fair share of weird habits and compulsions. Getting lost in his own head was a fairly common one, as was not understanding certain constructs like gender or social class (he balked and was torn up for days when Daryl tried to explain why letting Sophia paint his nails had incited such a negative reaction from Ed Peltier). He knew nothing about music, movies or television, though he was an avid reader, and when it came to popular and political culture from before the turn he was equally as clueless… and yet he could talk your ear off about the Edict of Nantes or the ecology of bees. He didn’t seem to understand the difference between being hungry and thirsty so he was consistently underweight (despite Daryl’s best efforts to regulate his eating habits), he hated being sweaty and he couldn’t seem to lace a shoe without getting so frustrated that he ended up tumbling over the edge of hysterics. So having to add “talking to himself” to the large list of “Things Castiel does that Freak People Out,” really wasn’t that much of an undertaking.

It never freaked Daryl out though. Quite the contrary, he found Castiel’s free-spirited social illiteracy endearing, and kind of comforting. It was nice to have someone around who wasn’t naturally comfortable around people, who struggled with polite conversation and didn’t see the point in small talk. And when he was watching Cas across the fire while he joked and giggled with Sophia, his fingers clutched daintily in her small palm as she carefully painted layers of bright red varnish onto his nails Daryl had burned with unabashed affection that thrummed through his veins.

His naivete and ignorance of things that seemed so second nature and simple to everyone else was also quickly developing Daryl’s newest hobby. His favorite thing to do in this new world was to introduce Castiel to something he had never seen or done before and watch with rapt attention his reactions, cataloguing what he liked and what he didn’t, every movement, smile or grimace. Daryl could be considered worldly by comparison (he wasn’t used to that) and so he tried everything he could think of, every new experience he could give to him. And the way Cas’ eyes lit up after Daryl fed him his first chocolate bar, and his surprising competitiveness when Daryl taught him how to play poker, or the nervous way he clung to Daryl’s shoulders when he tried to teach him how to swim? Those moments were what he lived for.

Even the negative compulsions, the clothing tags, his inexplicable abhorrence of anything purple, and his nasty habit of picking relentlessly at the scars of track marks along his ankles and thighs when he couldn’t sleep… Daryl wouldn’t trade them for anything. The things that made Cas different, that made people uncomfortable with him sometimes, were the things that Daryl delighted in. They made him whole and complete, rounded out the jagged edges of his furtive past, and soothed Daryl’s frustration at not knowing more about him. They worked into everything that Castiel was, and pulled Daryl in so deeply that it was getting harder to deny the fact he was maybe, probably falling in love with him.

Daryl was still staggered from the attack on the camp when he approached him, the softness of Cas’ voice over the clearing shocking him into stillness. He hadn’t been spotted yet, and from where he stood at the edge of the trees he could see Castiel’s shoulders trembling, and could hear his voice wavering.

“I understand why you did it, I do.” Castiel spoke into the clearing, his head in his hands, “I was wrong, I made a horrible mistake and I defied the Host. But I promise you, it wasn’t hubris that drove me to do it! It was out of love for them, and wasn’t that what you asked of us in the first place?”

He was upset, and when he dropped his hands and tilted his head back, eyes staring up at the sky Daryl could see he had been crying. And from the way he was talking, it almost sounded like a prayer... Daryl bit his thumbnail, warring with himself. If he was praying, he shouldn’t be here eavesdropping, there had to be some kind of rule against that right? But Cas spoke as if he knew who he was talking to, not an unknowable entity. His tone, his posture… it weren’t like any prayer he’d ever seen before. And he wondered with furious curiosity swelling in the pit of his stomach, that if he listened he might learn something about Cas, something he refused to say. Something about who, or what, he was before the world had come to an end.

Would that be wrong?

It felt like betrayal, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“I thought this was supposed to be my penance, my path to absolution. I chose to serve them over you, and I was punished for it. Now, despite the hypocrisy, I can see why you would deem it proper to punish me… I mean, my brother before me defied you once, and became the greatest danger to heaven and earth there ever was.” Castiel dug his fingers into his knees, eyes still skyward and searching, “And while I know the crime might have been the same, I was only doing what was asked of me. Not by Michael but by you! I love them, you have to see that, I love all of them. In their good times and in their bad, I have watched over them and wept with them, smiled with them. I have rejoiced with them in times of life and peace, and suffered with them in times of death and war… and I couldn’t stand to let them, not a single one of them die if I could prevent it, without trying to fight it. The ends didn’t justify the means, and if we couldn’t save all of them, then that wasn’t good enough.”

He stumbled over his words, a soft sob wrenched from his chest as he scrubbed a hand across his face, and Daryl had to dig his fingers into the meat of his thighs to keep from going to him.

“I know now that was a mistake,” he murmured quietly, “that so much more suffering was caused because of our refusal to play our parts, but you have to understand that we were only trying to do right by them… and I have accepted all that I have suffered for it, and will suffer for it. I’ve never asked anything for myself, because I did mess up bad and I deserve to be punished for it. But they shouldn’t have to suffer with me.”

“Please, give me back just a small measure of my grace.” Castiel was pleading now, shifting to his knees, his hands fisted in the dirt below him, his neck craned backwards, begging up towards the stars, “I used to be able to do so much more for them. I could heal, I could take away their pain, and I was a better protector. But now—” He huffed scathingly, “I'm all but useless... I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I can barely defend myself, much less all of them, and I have to watch as they grieve their loved ones, watch them as they die!”

Castiel stopped suddenly, falling back on his heels and dropping his chin, staring brokenly off into the trees. Even with his back turned, Daryl could see understanding ripple through the taut muscles of his shoulders as they sank in defeat, his hands loosely curled and dragging in the dust by his sides.

“But that is my punishment, my real punishment isn’t it?” Castiel whispered, barely audible over the noise of the forest, the commotion drifting through the trees from the camp, “The perfect sentence. I loved them more than I loved you, more than I loved my brothers and sisters, than Michael. So now, I get to love them completely, as one of them. I get to live with them, be a part of them, to have everything I ever wanted… and I get to watch them die, one by one. As they are torn apart in this cruel, base world that the Morningstar is creating.” He choked around a sob, crumpling forward until his forehead connected with the ground, holding himself up on shaking elbows, “You aren’t going to let me help them,” he spat, “and you aren’t even listening at all. You never were.”

Daryl had never moved so fast in his life.

He stopped listening the instant Castiel fell to his hands and knees, his shoulders quivering with barely repressed sobs. He didn’t get it, any of it. Not a word Cas spoke made any sense to him, they didn’t answer even one of his questions and if anything, they just created more. He was no better off, no closer to understanding Castiel than he was before, but in that moment it didn’t matter. Cas was crumpled to the ground, heaving thick, wracking cries and he couldn’t just stand there any longer.

Castiel jerked upwards when he felt Daryl’s hands grasp his shoulders, and his panic was palpable, if only for a moment. As soon as their eyes met, Cas’ face red and streaked with blood and tears, he huffed twice and dove forward, burying his head into the center of Daryl’s chest while his hands grasped tightly at the front of his shirt.

All Daryl could do was hold on, knocked back onto his ass with Castiel sprawled between his legs, fingers flexing in the fabric of his shirt as he cried, silently now. Daryl wrapped his arms around him tightly, clinging to his shoulders, and as he nosed along Cas’ temple he ached to be able to say something, anything to help him. He had the words of generations of writers tumbling through his head at all times, but when he needed to form his own words, his own comforts, he faltered. It really was all he could do to sit there, cradling Cas in his arms as he breathed softly against him, feeling his head move with the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

He felt he should say something as Castiel sniffled, scrubbing his cheek with the back of a sleeve, his tears having all but stopped and his breathing broaching on normal. Cas still had his head pressed into his chest, though his hands had released Daryl’s poor bunched up shirt and hung limply against the dry ground. They were huddled against each other, in perfectly unbroken silence, Castiel having never seemed as small as he did in that moment as he curled up against Daryl, shoulders shuddering in his steady grasp. Daryl really thought he should say something, he wanted to, but he just didn’t have the words.

He didn’t need to, it seemed. He heard Cas take in a deep breath, heard the sounds of him licking his lips and a weighty exhale before he heard him speak.

“Did you catch any of that?” Castiel muttered against his shirt.

“Only a little, the tail end. I didn’t understand none of it, neither.” Daryl admitted, glad for their proximity and the darkness that kept the guilty flush that spread across his cheeks from Castiel’s view, “I wasn’t trying to listen in, I was just looking for you. When we took the camp back, when I saw your weapons on the ground and couldn’t find you, I-um...” He swallowed audibly, “I was worried.”

“I was so glad to see you were alright.” Speaking softly, Castiel sat back and Daryl got his first good look at him. He was a mess, covered in rotten old blood and dirt, tear streaks down his face. He worried his lower lip between sentences, and even though his eyes were tired and swollen they were as blue as ever, bright despite the darkness of the woods that night. “When I saw you get surrounded, I was afraid that you weren’t going to make it but… I couldn’t let myself think about it then. I had Lori and Carl, Carol and Sophia and I had to, I had to make sure they were safe—”

Daryl shushed him, reaching out to him again and cupping his cheek with his hand. Castiel breathed slowly, his eyes sliding shut as Daryl ran his thumb comfortingly across his jaw, skipping across days’ worth of stubble and grime. “Cas, it’s okay. We’re both here, we’re fine.”

“Amy’s not.” Cas mumbled, eyes downcast, “Ramiro, Ed, Debora, Don, Helen… they’re not fine. They’re dead, and I should be able to do something about it, something to help them. But I can’t.”

Daryl was completely dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand this weight of responsibility that Castiel felt for every person he came across. He had seen it before, in the chapel, when he was upset about putting Daryl in harm’s way. He’d seen it in the camp, the way he would comb the perimeter multiple times a day, with a resolute sense of duty Daryl couldn’t help but admire. Or how Cas would watch Sophia or Carl for their mothers, calm and playful in demeanor but his eyes betraying him, constantly sharp and aware of their movements, their surroundings. And he saw it that very night in the way he leapt into action, directing every one of their limited fighters like an officer on a battlefield, stalwart and strong, the only thought in his mind to protect and defend the lives of those who couldn’t do it themselves.

He knew deep down that Castiel wasn’t human, or at least wasn’t always human. He had admitted as much that night in the Impala, when they were on the road and discussing Angkor Wat, but that wasn’t the only thing Daryl had noticed. It started as little things Cas would say, pieces of information he had no way of knowing, like how humans discovered coffee or what had actually carved the Grand Canyon. And for anyone else to say with so much conviction that heavens interest in biblical restrictions had been largely exaggerated, and that the only one worth any salt whatsoever was “not constraining a known dangerous bull” (since that was just good old common sense), he would assume they were absolutely insane. Or at the very least he would think they were pulling his leg (he was certain the rest of the camp did when Castiel talked like that).

But whenever Cas spoke about the validity of pieces of scripture, about characters and historical figures like they were people he had watched grow throughout their lives with a mixture of pain and pride, Daryl didn’t doubt him for a second. Logically, it made no sense… though neither did the dead people walking around, or the wendigo they encountered, or a handful of other things he had read about in the Winchester’s journal. And he couldn’t deny that those were real. He believed Castiel, every word, and he wanted to know more about him, he was _dying_ to know more. It killed him that he was so intimately connected with Cas, but he didn’t even know what species he was. He didn’t know if he had any special powers, or even what had happened to him to make him human.

And really, it wasn’t just what Castiel said either. Since they had started sleeping together and spending so much time with each other, Daryl had begun to notice odd little things, stuff he probably wouldn’t have picked up on had he not been introduced to the supernatural. Like Castiel’s penchant for drifting into different languages, some he recognized and some he didn’t. When he was reading sometimes he would mutter to himself under his breath in Spanish, and when they were having sex he would sometimes cry out in an oddly stilted language Daryl couldn’t place.

Things also reacted to him based on how he was feeling. That first night back at the camp, when Daryl had made an ass out of himself and Castiel had told him to go to hell, the instant Cas had shoved him every campfire around them sputtered and burst at the same time, the flames rising well over two feet only to fall when Cas stormed off into the woods. When Daryl tried to coax him into a deeper part of the pond one night, convinced that he was going to teach him how to swim properly, the wind had whipped around them, howling through the quarry and so loud they couldn’t even speak. But when he reached out to Cas and guided his hands around his shoulders, holding on to his waist and pulling him close, the wind had died instantly. Total silence.

And then there was that one time, alone together in Castiel’s tent when Daryl had him nearly bent in half, fucking him hard as Cas arched and writhed underneath him, his arms wrapped tightly around Daryl’s shoulders, fingers digging so deeply he almost broke his skin. He was vaguely aware at the time of an odd smell, almost like the ground after it rains, a sharp smell that broke through the haze of his lust enough that he could remember it still so clearly when they were spent. And as Daryl listened to the hitch in Castiel’s breath, the telltale little moans he only made when he was _so_ close, the same sounds that rocketed through Daryl like one thousand volts, he also heard a peculiar crackling, almost like jumper cables echoing against the thin walls of the tent. And their old electric lantern had hummed loudly as they moved against each other, getting brighter and brighter, only to burst when Castiel finally came with a shuddering cry, startling the both of them into stillness.

(Afterwards, the only explanation Cas could give him was a bemused shrug and a smile. And watching him as he reclined against the blankets and pillows, flushed, debauched and utterly beautiful, Daryl hadn’t the heart to ask for a better one.)

So Daryl knew that Cas was something different, a supernatural entity maybe not unlike the ones that he used to hunt. But he didn’t know what he was, what he had lost or how he got here. And he didn’t know how to comfort him because of it. How could he tell Castiel he had done everything he could, when he didn’t know what the full scope of his power? _Had_ he done all he could? And who had he been talking to just now, praying to them like they were an old friend?

Castiel hadn’t said a word since his attempt to placate him. He just sat there, leaning into Daryl’s hand which still cupped the side of his face, his own hand resting gently over-top as if to hold him there. His other hand ran gently down the inside of Daryl’s forearm, fingers skirting across veins and the valleys of old work scars and scrapes from that nights fight. Cas was silent and sullen, watching the movements of his hand working along Daryl’s bare skin, his eyes downcast and his expression so lamentable that he couldn’t take it.

Daryl was better at hiding how he was feeling during the day, when he was never secure and always on alert. At night though it was different, he could trust himself to fall into the background and to let loose his guard, just a little. And on nights when he was with Castiel, he couldn’t hide a damn thing. Cas had this brilliantly terrifying talent, this preternatural ability to make him feel completely comfortable, to allow him to be open and honest, to speak his mind without fear of reprisal. Cas was easy and exposed, no hidden agenda or nefarious purpose behind the things he would say and do, and he would give himself over so completely, no matter the emotion he would never be able to shield it away. It inspired something in Daryl, a response and a need to connect the same way, so much so that while he could pretend he didn’t love him when he was going through the motions in the light of day, he couldn’t deny it when the sun set and he came alive.

He loved him. Daryl loved him, and Cas was heartbroken. It didn’t matter how or why, where or what. It didn’t matter that Daryl didn’t know how to comfort another human being, that he was never shown comfort himself. It didn’t matter that Castiel wasn’t always human either, because that was what he was now. All that mattered was that he needed him, and he’d be damned if he was going to callously sit there in silence any longer.

Daryl tugged his hand back, gently extricating himself from Castiel’s grip. Cas tried to hold on, confused for a moment until Daryl turned him by his shoulders, pulling him to his chest and wrapping his arms around his middle. They sat like that for a time, no one speaking, with Daryl’s head resting in the crook of Cas’ neck, his breath warmly skirting his skin, wafting against his hair. They sat and listened to each other’s measured heartbeats, to the sobs and halting whispers from camp. To the sounds of cracking and smashing skulls, and fires burning. And in that moment, Daryl also noticed the hum of crickets, cicadas, sawflies and aphids was overwhelmingly loud around them, circling them in the clearing. He was certain if he opened his eyes that he would be able to see thousands of them swarming, drawn to Castiel’s grief and distress.

“Cas, I don’t know what you used to be, or what you used to be able to do.” Daryl broke the silence, speaking in measured bursts against the side of Cas’ neck, kissing the soft skin right behind his ear, “But right now it doesn’t matter, because that ain’t who you are anymore. You’re one of us, you’re just a man, and you can’t keep expecting yourself to be more than that.”

“I used to be able to heal people,” Cas murmured, bringing up two fingers and tapping them deftly against Daryl’s temple, “just like that. With nothing more than a touch, I could burn away infections, disease, cancers. I could ease pain, set and heal broken bones, dissolve tumors and lesions with a thought. But now I’m…” He trailed off, his eyes focusing on something nondescript in the distance as his fingers now scratched affectionately at Daryl’s hairline, “I’m as you said, just a man. I can’t do anything for these people, I can’t do anything for you. And I’ve only just realized I’m going to lose you one day.”

“Yes, you are.” Cas stiffened in his arms as he spoke, and Daryl gingerly stroked a calloused palm over his arm, soothingly. “You are gonna lose me one day, or I’m gonna lose you. People die now just like they always have. But you can’t be afraid of it, or try to avoid it, because that’s a part of living. Death has to be around to make life more valuable, so it has some kind of meaning, y’know? Otherwise, what are we fighting for?”

Castiel hummed softly, and turned in Daryl’s arms. “I feel responsible,” he said as he curled his arms around Daryl’s neck, resting cheek to cheek, “I always have, this sense of responsibility is something I have felt since my inception. And even now, even as a mortal I can’t help but look around at all of these poor and suffering souls and think that I would have been so much more useful to them were I still—” He stopped suddenly, catching himself, “what I was. Maybe I could have saved Amy, or I could have healed people and then thought away the infection so they wouldn’t turn. Instead, all I could do was take out a few Croats and almost get myself killed.”

“Jesus, Cas, look at me.” Daryl grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him back slightly, “You may have been able to do all of that once, and I get it man, it must be hard to feel as limited as you do right now. But what you did tonight? As a human? It weren’t nothing. You saved Rick’s wife and kid, you saved Carol and her little girl. Without you calling the shots the camp would’ve been overrun before Rick got back with the guns, and we would’ve lost a hell of a lot more than we already have.” He stared into Castiel’s eyes, imploring him, trying to make him understand, “You did more than anyone expected of you. You were the best of us tonight, and you did it as a human. I can’t understand what you’ve lost, but when I look around this camp I see tons of people whose losses seem just as big to them, who have suffered more in these past few months than they ever have in their life. And you protected them, selflessly. Castiel, you ain’t useless. You ain’t helpless. You’re amazing, and you’re doing fine.”

With a choked off sound, Castiel surged forwards, cradling Daryl’s head in his hands as he kissed him sweetly, a chaste press of their lips until Daryl slid his hands from his arms to his hips, guiding him into his lap. Cas gasped against his mouth and deepened the kiss, tongue sliding tentatively against his own as he straddled him, his hands trembling against Daryl’s cheeks.

“Daryl,” with a sigh Castiel broke away, their foreheads resting against each other as his eyes caught his and held tight, “I'm so in love with you.”

He didn’t register Cas’ words at first, just sat there dumbly and blinked. But when he finally was able to comprehend them, it was like a dam had burst. He pitched upwards on his knees, cradling Castiel with an arm around his waist and a hand against the back of his head, smiling as he felt Cas instinctively wrap his legs around him, feet crossing at the small of his back. He bent at the hips and laid him down as gently as he could manage, following after him until they were both sprawled in the dirt and kicking up dust and twigs, Daryl’s hand still cradling the back of Cas’ head as he leaned down to seal their lips.

Daryl could remember the last and only time someone had said that to him, though it was still so long ago. It was his mother, and after her there was no one else, as clearly Merle and his old man would rather eat their own arm than display any sort of fondness for him. Hell, his dad’s idea of showing he cared was ignoring you and letting you get to bed at night without some kind of altercation.

His mom died when he was young, but in the recesses of his memories of her he could remember her saying it. She was kind to him most times, but she couldn’t be too nice around his dad, or he would get mad at her. The most outward affection he ever received from her was when she would be having a bad night, when his dad would get ornery or storm out of the house, and she would come into the room he shared with Merle, who was most nights either out or drunk, or both. He would be able to hear her crying as she slipped through the door, all quiet like she used to and he would feel his bed dip as she curled up next to him, not touching and with her back to him.

She would never be the first to reach out. She would always just lay there, and he was certain if he never turned around, never reached out with his thin, spindly arms to gently press his hands between her shoulder blades, she would have eventually left. But he always did, and when he touched her she would turn and cradle him against her chest, back to front as he just did with Castiel. She would wrap him up tight, bury her face in his hair and talk to him in a hurried, hushed voice, saying she was sorry and that she wished things could be different for them.

And one night when he was about nine or so, when she held him close, and he’d wrapped his arms across hers, she tried to keep from crying as she spoke. “You’re better than him, Daryl. You are, you’re the kindest boy I know and it breaks my heart but this world is gonna eat you for breakfast. I wish it wouldn’t, I wish I could keep you from it but we all end up slaves to it in the end, every one of us. Just remember when its hard baby, when it gets really hard that I love you, and when it feels like no one gives a shit, oh honey, you know I do.”

His mom didn’t stay long that night. Only a few moments later they both started at the sound of the front door slamming open, the telltale footfalls stomping down the hall and his father’s booming voice screaming “Leanne! Get your ass out here!”

She had pressed a soft kiss into his hair, patted his arm one more time before extricating herself, steeling her expression at the door and wiping her face with the back of her hand. “You don’t have to go out there, mom.” He had whispered to her, sitting straight up in his bed and clinging tightly to the sheets, “You can just stay in here till he’s out for the night, I won’t say nothin’.”

And he remembered so clearly the way she smiled, sad and resigned but also brimming with pride, “Baby, I have to, else he’ll just come in here.” With her hand on the doorknob she’d turned back to him just for a moment, and before she stepped out that door she spoke to him, so softly he scarcely heard her, “I meant what I said, and I should say it more but you have to know that I mean it, and you have to promise to hold on to it. Don’t forget that I love you.”

That was it.

The first and only time in his life someone had told him that they loved him, until Castiel.

Daryl moved languidly with him, lips taking and giving in tandem, a gentle push and pull between him and the man sprawled beneath him. And when he pulled back, when he ran his fingers down the curve of Cas’ elegant neck, the tightly coiled muscles of his chest and stomach, and the peak of his hips he could only exhale shakily in reply. As he stared down at him, into blue eyes completely captivating, the eyes of someone he had only known for so short a time but who had understood him better than his own family had, he felt as if he had been holding his breath for years, only now able to let it go.

“Cas, only one person has ever told me that in my life, and it was my mom. Once.” He ran his knuckles along the side of Cas’ jaw, catching at the rough bristles of hair there, thumbing down the center of his throat. Daryl could feel him breathing, could feel his throat move as he swallowed and the faint beat of his pulse, “No one else since.”

Castiel had stilled completely, laying on his back, with twigs in his hair and wide eyes. He didn’t respond when Daryl spoke, he didn’t move a muscle. He just laid there, arms sprawled out on either side of his head as he listened with baited breath, and it was Daryl’s turn to help him let it go.

“And I’ve been tryin’ to tell myself that I can’t, that what we are and what we’re doing is nice but it’s not _that_ , you know?” Daryl huffed out a laugh and shook his head, “But I was just foolin’ myself. I don’t know why I was, but it’s true. It’s obvious, I mean I write you poetry, man! And not just any poems, but ones that didn’t even make sense to me until I met you. And I don’t want to, I mean I can’t tell myself anymore that I’m not completely fallen for you. Cas, I am, I really am. I love you too.”

He watched with the same rapt attention as when Castiel had taken that first bite of a Kit-Kat bar, only this time when he smiled up at him, a real one that creased the corners of his eyes and scrunched up his nose, Daryl didn’t just swell with the pride of being the first person to show him something new. No, this time he filled to the brim, almost bursting with affectionate warmth, knowing he just said something that seemed so huge and changing, so inexpressible just moments ago, and was reciprocated. And it appeared that with Cas he just leaped and bounded over those things that in his head he never thought he would ever be able to do.

“I didn’t mean to spring that on you, right now.” Castiel said, lifting his hands from the ground and running them up Daryl’s arms, “I know it’s not the most appropriate time and place, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything as strongly as I do in this moment. Any emotion, I never had the chance to feel anything when I first… became human.” He struggled a bit, but righted himself with a clearing cough, “I started using right away, and I was basically high or similarly inebriated every hour of the day or night, if I could help it. So even though I might have felt them before I changed, happiness, grief, love? It was never like _this_. Never so whole and complete.”

“You couldn’t feel emotions as, whatever you were before now?”

“No, not really.” Castiel answered quickly and surely. It seemed to Daryl that now he had admitted out loud that he knew about his not quite human lineage (at least in part), that he was more comfortable speaking about certain details. “I understood them, in a logical sense. I knew what anger was, and what situations called for it. I had heard of love, and had seen it in motion, and understood the reasons behind it and where to look for it. But it was all very analytical. There’s no conceptualizing the breadth of a feeling, not really. Nothing compares to the experience of it. And besides, my kind had a different way of thinking, impulses and yearnings that humans could probably compare to emotion, but it’s still kind of like…”

“Apples and oranges.”

“No, I don’t think it’s like any fruit.”

“As a comparison, Cas. Like comparing apples to oranges. They’re similar but not the same?”

“Oh, I see. It’s an idiom. I rarely understand idioms.”

“I know, sorry.” Daryl smiled down at him sheepishly, “I’ve been tryin’ to lay off them, but it’s hard. You don’t realize how much you rely on them till you try to cut ‘em out.”

“It's alright.” Cas said, that smile never really leaving his face, his eyes alight with it, “I’m sorry for how upset I was, like I said I’m not used to feeling things like this, so strongly and after this attack, especially after seeing Amy? We weren’t close but I spent more time with her and Andrea than most others in the camp.” He breathed deep, his brows pinching and Daryl rolled off to the side, laying down next to him and stroking a comforting hand across his shoulder as he continued, “And I feel selfish for thinking of myself, but I thought I might lose you too and I don’t know if I could handle that very well. It’s all incredibly overwhelming.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that, ever.” Daryl stated firmly, frowning not at Castiel but at a strange hovering glow that seemed to be moving across his face, “I think it’s expected to feel upset after a night like this.”

“Daryl, you have—”

Cas raised a hand to his face, waving something away when he cut off sharply and looked over his shoulder, only to jolt upwards into a sitting position in the next second. Daryl, who had been studying that strange looking glow that was moving down his throat, jerked at his sudden movement and chased him upwards, following his gaze as he looked around the clearing.

The sound of summer insects had faded sometime during their conversation, dissipating into near silence and no longer blocking out the sounds from camp. Sitting side by side and staring into the clearing, instead of the swarm of buzzing, chirping bugs Daryl had expected to see, there were now hundreds upon hundreds of fireflies.

They were circling them, flitting in and out of the treeline, darting around their tents, their canteens. They buzzed and flew, some landing among the overhanging branches, on the shoulder of a Croat, ghosting past Castiel’s hair. But almost all were in motion, the ones at rest seeming to switch off with the ones that grew tired of flight. It was a slowly swirling, cylindrical wall of soft light, so bright amongst each other they nearly illuminated the campsite, like the shining of pale green sun. They were there for Castiel, like the fire and the wind. Drawn to him, to whatever remaining shred of his past life still clung to him, and he wondered what Castiel made of it all. 

One look at his face told Daryl all he needed to know.

Cas had no clue he was the cause of this.

He sat cross-legged beside Daryl, arms outstretched with palms to the sky, extending the tips of his fingers hesitantly to any firefly that might be brave enough to land there. He was laughing quietly, a look of baffled wonder on his face, grinning ear to ear. Castiel didn’t move a muscle, fearful perhaps that if he were to move at all he would break the spell. That the insects would scatter and plunge them back into the moonlit darkness of their campsite. He only dared to shift towards Daryl, a short tilt of his head to look back at Daryl, laughter in his eyes that reflected every tiny pinprick of light that shorted and sparked around them.

“What is this?” He asked Daryl breathlessly, absolutely fascinated, “Is this normal? Do they usually do this? I’ve never heard of phausis reticulata behaving in such a way.”

“No, they don’t.” Daryl sat holding his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees as he watched Castiel watch the fireflies, “I think they’re here for you.”

With an extraordinary laugh that was far too short for his liking, Cas sidled over to him so they sat side by side, hips and thighs pressed up against each other. Resting his head against Daryl’s shoulder, he watched the cloud of fireflies slowly dissipate, retreating one by one back into the forest, the occasional straggler stopping to land somewhere near the couple.

“For us, you mean.” Castiel murmured, reaching up and twining his fingers with Daryl’s, “We should probably get back. They’re going to need help, and they’re going to start wondering where we are.”

Daryl could already hear the bliss retreating in his voice, the smile falling from his face as he came back to reality. He gripped Cas' hand tight, not ready to let that go, not yet. There would be far too many hours in the coming days to deal with the aftermath of the attack on the camp, days spent burning and burying friends and acquaintances, nights planning and comforting the bereaved. He could take a moment now, just a small moment more.

He wasn’t ready to have to pretend he didn’t love him.

Not yet.

Unfolding himself, Daryl stretched and flopped back down to the ground. The fireflies were leaving, but just as slowly as they came, still hundreds of them darting around the clearing, and he could see they completely enveloped it from that vantage point, blocking out the stars through the breaks in the trees. Reaching up, he tugged gently at Castiel’s shirt, guiding him down until he was lying on his back as well, his head resting on Daryl’s shoulder, tucked in the crook of his arm. “They won’t come yet.” He declared with conviction, “And it won’t hurt nobody if we just lay here for a few more minutes. Hell, we helped to save the camp, we just need some time to collect ourselves. We won’t be much use to them if we’re all strung out.”

He spoke with such confidence it seemed, that Castiel didn’t even think to argue. All at once, he melted into Daryl’s side, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of his hand as it passed his lips, on its way to tangle itself in his hair. “You’re probably right,” Cas whispered softly, staring up at the lingering swaths of churning luminescence, “I think I do need a few more moments. With you.”

“Me too.” Daryl agreed, and he couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that pulled at his lips. His arm wrapped around Cas a little tighter, “Let’s just finish watching the show.”


	12. Peachtree St NE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This is a long one, so I hope you enjoy! Next week we will be at the CDC, which I am super excited for ;) This chapter gets a little sad and heavy, but stick through it till the end, there's some fun shit down there. 
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos!

They emerged from the woods hours later to an early rising sun and a slow-moving crowd of miserable faces. Daryl was right, they didn’t even notice they had been gone, too busy consoling one another and waiting for the light of day before they went to work. And as Castiel stumbled his way out of the woods a few minutes after Daryl, he saw they were already beginning to haul off the bodies of dead Croats, and picking off the last few corpses of camp members before they could turn. The only exception was Andrea and Amy by the camper, motionless in the same tableau as after the fight.

Lori was hiking back towards Rick and Shane when he strolled up to them, no one acknowledging his re-emergence as they spoke in hushed tones about what to do. “She still won't move?” Rick asked, looking pointedly over at the sisters.

“She won’t even talk to us.”  Lori responded morosely, sitting heavily on the seat of an old car, ripped from its chassis and laid out by the fire, “She's been there all night. What do we do?”

“Can't just leave Amy like that.” It was Shane who answered her, his eyes never leaving the two girls by the camper. His shotgun was still clenched tightly in his hands, laid out across his lap and his posture was ramrod straight. He hadn’t taken a rest since the attack it seemed, if the bags under his eyes were any indication, “We need to deal with it same as the others.”

Rick nodded once, and with a curt “I'll tell her how it is” in reply, he took off towards Andrea.

With a deep breath, Cas took a seat next to Lori, who turned when she felt the seat dip to the side. She was looking pretty rough as well, though he was certain she was better off than him, if the look on her face was anything to go by. He could feel old walker blood that had dried to his cheeks and neck flaking off when he smiled at her somberly. “How are you holding up?” He asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the sound of a gun cocking, unreasonably loud in the silence of the camp.

Both of them swung around, staring wide eyed as Andrea moved for the first time that morning. Instead of laying slumped over the corpse of her sister, she had now turned at the hips, her pistol levelled with Ricks head and her finger on the trigger.

“Hey, he’s got this.” Castiel said gently, placing a placating hand on Lori’s arm as he felt her tense, ready to jump up at any moment. She froze, almost vibrating with nervous energy as he held her arm, but she didn’t stand up. She didn’t move a muscle, nor did she relax until her husband had backed away, and Andrea had lowered her gun to the ground once more. 

Rick wandered back to their small congregation by the fire, giving Shane a helpless shrug. The stood there, all of them at a loss. They couldn’t take Amy away from her while she was armed, and they couldn’t risk trying to take her gun away from her either.

“Y'all can't be serious.” Pickaxe hoisted over one shoulder, Daryl ambled up to the fire. His defiant posture alone spoke volumes, and he turned to Rick with an indignant expression that showed just how little he thought of his leadership in that moment, “Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time bomb.”

“What do you suggest?” Rick demanded.

“Take the shot.” Was his curt answer, and Castiel bristled nervously as Daryl stepped in close, getting into Ricks face. He could see the tension mounting between the two of them, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Shane rounding them, ready to pounce on Daryl should he step out of line. “Clean, in the brain from here.” Daryl raised to fingers to the side of his head in a mockery of a gun, “Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance.”

“No.” To his surprise, it was Lori who spoke up. She was still sitting next to him, still with his hand on her arm and when she spoke she never looked away from the girls by the camper, not even for a moment, “For God's sakes, let her be.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Castiel offered, looking from Rick to Shane, and back again. He never got the hang of their power dynamic, and never knew which to address over the other, so he tried to play it safe with both whenever possible. “I can hang out by the RV, watch and wait? If she turns, and Andrea can’t do it, I can take care of her.”

Rick levelled him with curiously thankful stare. “You sure you’re up for that?” He asked, hands on his hips and pacing by the burned out fires edge, hazy waves of smoke and heat obscuring him as he moved. A lilt of panic rose in Castiel’s throat, but he pushed it down and nodded.

“You’ll probably need these then. You dropped ‘em last night.” Daryl muttered as he stepped forward, careful not to look Cas in the eye, as was his usual approach when they were in front of others. In his left hand he was holding both of Castiel’s knives carefully by the blade, grips out so Cas could take them. He accepted his weapons with a quiet thank you, mindful not to touch him at all and when Daryl backed away he could almost see the gratefulness in his expression for it.

It kind of hurt, he had to admit, when Daryl pretended not to care for him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand why he had to do it, he had been very clear with Castiel from the beginning the kinds of barriers he had been forced to erect throughout his life, just to get by. And even though Castiel trusted the people in this camp, he too had seen how quickly people could turn on you when faced with something they were uncomfortable with, and had experienced that ugly, violent underbelly personally before. It was a viable threat, especially in the end of days, and Cas could sympathize with him wanting to be careful.

But especially after last night, everything that they had said, he had (naively, perhaps) hoped that Daryl would snap out of it a little. He didn’t think he was asking for much, just some kind of an acknowledgment: a smile, a touch… something small and inconsequential to anyone but them. Cas had admitted to him his sense of weakness, his punishment and responsibility. He had shared with him a piece of his past and his loss of immortality. And he had confessed to love him, truly, something he had never proclaimed to any one person in all the millennia he had been alive. That had to count for something, Cas thought as he tucked his knives one by one back into their holsters. Daryl had said it back, hadn’t he? How was it that their days apart could tear Castiel to bits, but not phase Daryl at all?

Maybe they did more than he let on, Castiel mused as he watched Daryl get into fight after fight as the day wore on. With Glenn over not burning their own, with Morales over some sharp “you reap what you sow” comment. With Rick after they found out Jim had been bit. He was like a long stick of dynamite with a short fuse, ready to go off at every turn.

He was anxious, it was so clear in his posture that he was wound up tighter than a spring. He breezed past Castiel even when he didn’t need too, and he could feel Daryl’s eyes burning into his back when he thought no one was looking. And Cas knew if he turned around and looked for him, he would find him in-between hauling corpses, lower lip pulled between his teeth, stealing hurried glances of Castiel’s crouching form with an intense longing tugging him in his direction.

All Castiel wanted to do was reach out a hand as he walked past the RV, just to graze his fingers along his thigh or his arm. To grip his hand briefly and squeeze, before letting them return to their respective jobs. Something simple, a small measure of comfort to help Daryl remember to breathe, to take a moment and compartmentalize everything that was happening and what they were going through. It had been a rough night, they had lost so many people and tensions were so high, but at least Castiel could garner some comfort through his friendship with Lori, or Carol. Daryl had no one in this camp, no one except him, and he wouldn’t allow himself to even touch Cas unless they were safely out of view of everyone else. So it was no small wonder he was so irritable.

“Amy. Amy, I'm sorry.”

Castiel looked up with a start, already pulling his hunting knife from his thigh holster. He cursed under his breath for allowing himself to get lost in thought when he had a job to do. Amy’s corpse had turned while he was out of it, and Andrea in her grief was just holding it down, speaking to it as if her sister was actually still in there. “Andrea,” Cas said softly, not moving towards her just yet, only standing up, “do you need anything from me?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t even acknowledge that he spoke at all. Instead, she raised a loving hand to the thing wearing her sister’s face and stroked her cheek affectionately, “I'm sorry for not ever being there.” She said through a cracking sob, moving her hand from its face to its chest, running her fingers over the small necklace it wore, “I always thought there'd be more time. I'm here now, Amy.”

Knife in hand, Castiel took a tentative step towards her. He risked a glace up at the rest of the camp and saw that Amy’s reanimation had drawn the attention of almost everybody, all looking at the sisters with identical wide eyes and pallid faces. Shane had his gun in hand, not raised (not yet) but with his finger next to the trigger and Daryl stood at the far end of the camp with his bow drawn and arrow loaded, pointed squarely at the Croats head. Cas advanced slowly, waving off the onlookers in an attempt to calm them. He had a handle on it, should Andrea lose control of the situation he could easily pull her off and take out Amy’s corpse without anyone else getting hurt… but Andrea needed to do this for herself it seemed, and if she could he was going to let her.

He refrained from breathing a sigh of relief when he saw her pull her gun from the waistband of her jeans. “I'm here,” she whispered brokenly as she dug the muzzle into the side of its head, weeping silently now, fat tears rolling from her cheeks to splatter against her sister’s chest. With one final “I love you,” she inhaled sharply and pulled the trigger.

Amy’s corpse hit the ground once more, gone for good this time.

Andrea crumpled back down on her knees, sitting up straight for the first time since Amy had died in the night, her head lolling back off of her shoulders as she looked up at the sky. “Andrea,” Cas broached carefully, crouching next to her on the opposite side of Amy’s corpse, “I am so sorry for your loss. But what you just did, that was very brave and—”

“You’re sorry?” Andrea huffed a bitter laugh, tilting her head so she could look over at him, her expression unreadable, “You’re _sorry?_ ”

“Um, yes.” Cas was completely taken aback, that was the right thing to say he was sure of it. He had heard others say it before in Chitaqua when they had lost loved ones, he had even heard it said to Andrea not even an hour ago by Dale, “Yes, of course I am. Amy was—”

“You don’t get to talk about her!” She hissed sharply, cutting him off and pointing an accusing finger at him. She jabbed him in the chest and leaned in close, and Castiel had to fight to keep himself from backing away at her sudden burst of aggression, “She’s dead. She died here, alone and in pain, being torn apart by undead monsters the night before her birthday, and it’s all your fault!”

Shaking his head incredulously, Castiel knelt down completely, sheathing his blade and his palms held in front of him in an effort to calm her, “Andrea, I don’t understand. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this sort of thing and I didn’t mean to upset you, clearly I did, but I don’t even know what it was I said.” His brows furrowed and he looked at her imploringly, floundering over his words, “Whatever it was, I am so sorry. But, Amy was taken by walkers, I didn’t do anything… I mean I would _never_ do anything to hurt her!”

“No?” She was silent as she stared him straight in the eye, her jaw shifting as she unconsciously ground her teeth. Her nostrils flared with barely controlled fury and he could see in her eyes that it was taking every iota of her mental fortitude not to snap at him and storm off. “No, I guess you didn’t do anything directly.” She admitted with cutting disdain, “But tell me, Castiel. Do you think it was a smart idea, now that the sun is up and _eight_ people are _dead_ , to run off in the middle of the night to fuck your boyfriend?”

Castiel’s blood ran cold and all of the colour drained from his face in an instant as he tried to stammer out a reply, but it was no use. His mouth moved around words he couldn’t voice, and he sat helplessly, unable to defend himself as she continued, now on a tirade and getting louder by the second.

“Yeah. You’re not all that subtle and you know I didn’t bat an eye about it, I mean you are two consenting adults, who am I to shove my nose in where it doesn’t belong? That was until the two of you really showed me where your priorities lie.”

“Andrea, I don’t think—”

“You’re right, you don’t _think_!” She bellowed, and if no one was listening before they sure were now. A quick look up at the rest of the camp confirmed all eyes on them, and Cas’ heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when he saw Daryl standing nearby, his face contorted into a warring battleground of anger and hurt, bow hanging limply and forgotten by his side. “You don’t think Cas, clearly. Because if you did, you would have realized that with Rick, Glenn and T-Dog off getting those guns, that left you, Shane and Daryl as the only competent fighters here! The only ones who could have stood a chance at saving any of us. And instead of taking that seriously, instead of taking the lives of every other person in this camp into account, what did you do?” She stood suddenly, standing over him and shouting down into his face, “Tell me. What did you do?”

“It’s none of your business what I was doing.” He spat back, his hackles raised and a nervous bravado flaring through him, “And I’m sorry you lost Amy, but you don’t get to blame that on me!”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong! It became all of our business when it started getting people killed!” Andrea whirled on her heel, taking two short steps away from his still crouching form before turning back to him, her hands spread out and arms wide. “So maybe the next time you feel the need scamper off to your secluded little corner of the forest to fuck Daryl Dixon,” she gestured pointedly with one hand at Daryl’s stock still form, frozen not even five feet away from where the two of them were fighting, “try thinking with your upstairs brain for a moment and pick a more appropriate time!”

Turning once more, Andrea collected her bag in a huff and stormed off towards the water’s edge.

The entire camp had fallen into a heavy, awkward silence.

Castiel climbed uneasily to his feet. His hands were trembling so ferociously he had to jam them in his pockets just to get them to lay still, and he was terrified to look up. He didn’t care about anyone else in the camp, what they thought or if they were as upset as Andrea… he just didn’t want to see Daryl, because he already knew what he would find when he looked at him. A closed off wall of a person who would refuse to acknowledge him, who would find any excuse to keep far away from him, and who would vehemently deny anything that transpired between them in the past, last night included.

But, he had to bite the bullet. It felt like a moment that stretched out into forever as he turned towards him, a horrible and cloying moment he wanted to be over, but didn’t have the luxury of rushing as he lifted his head, expecting to see Daryl’s retreating back or an empty space.

Instead, he was surprised to find him still standing there, in the same position he had left him in, with his arms hanging down from his sides, feet steady on the ground, staring towards Castiel and the RV.

And he looked terrified.

Castiel’s heart started hammering in his chest, and a short whine came unbidden from his throat as he looked at Daryl, who was in that moment the picture of utter defeat. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his bow had fallen from his hand, held up from the ground now only by the strap that had caught on his wrist on the way down. His mouth was drawn into a tight line, and Cas could almost read his eclipsing worry in the way his brow pinched in the middle, the way his eyes narrowed. He was gnawing at the inside of his cheek, and Cas could just barely make out the way his shoulders shook anxiously, like he was ready to bolt at any second but didn’t know if he should.

He was staring at Castiel like he was looking for orders, like for once he had no idea what to do. He was like a statue, cast to the dry dust and dirt, just waiting for Cas to tell him to move again… and his heart broke for him. In all their short time together, Castiel had never once seen him so conflicted, like a lost child he seemed completely adrift.

“Daryl,” Cas started, making no movement whatsoever lest he startle him, his hands still firmly in his pockets and his feet still planted in the ground, “it’s okay, I promise. Please, if we could just—”

Oh, he was getting sick of being interrupted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Daryl spoke suddenly and sharply, his words cutting through Castiel, vicious and foreign coming from the same mouth that had spoken so sweetly to him on so many nights, in so many stolen moments, “And I don’t know what the fuck she was going on about either.”

Cas’ voice broke the spell, it seemed. Daryl catapulted into movement the instant the words were out of his mouth, hiking his crossbow over his shoulder and stalking off down the path to the woods. Castiel made to follow him, but as soon as he took one shambling step forward, Daryl had turned and stopped him with the most scathing look he had ever been on the receiving end of, a look that had him frozen to the spot. He could only watch helplessly as his lover walked away from him for what felt like the thousandth time, and a treacherous voice in the back of his head asked him again (as it often did in these situations) why he kept letting himself be treated like this.

Looking around the camp, he saw that the majority of their onlookers had gone back to work, hauling bodies and burning the Croats. He heard Jim moaning weekly from the RV behind him, and Jacqui’s sweet voice trying to sooth him through the peaks of his fever. The only ones still watching him were Lori, Carol and Dale.

Lori was staring at him pointedly, her eyes narrowed in anger not directed towards him. He shook his head at her, silently imploring her not to do anything, to leave it alone, but she was willful and with her mind made up she backed away into the trees, no doubt in pursuit of Daryl or Andrea. Carol looked on in pity and in grief, no doubt compartmentalizing all that Andrea had said, deciding for herself if it was really Castiel’s fault her husband was dead, that her child no longer had a daddy. And Dale… was fast approaching him.

Dropping down to his knees next to Amy’s corpse, Castiel tried to busy himself with gathering her up into a nearby sheet, one that had been left for her as a makeshift burial shroud. He kept his head down, ignored the steady footfalls that were getting closer by the second and prayed to his father to keep his damn hands still. They were shaking like leaves, and he was struggling just to get the sheet laid out flat.

“Would you like some help?” Dale asked as he came to a stop, stooping next to Amy and helping Castiel right the sheet, “It looks like it might be a two person job, don’t you think?”

Cas didn’t look up at him, only nodded his assent and with the extra set of hands the process went much smoother. They managed to get her onto the sheet, swaddle her in it and begin tying her up before Dale spoke again.

“You know Cas, I just wanted to say that, while what Andrea said and did was out of line, you have to understand that she’s grieving,” Dale spoke kindly as he helped to loop the roll of duct tape back and forth over Amy’s wrapped form, “She didn’t mean to hurt either of you I’m sure, and she doesn’t really blame you for… for Amy’s death. She’s just angry and upset, and she needs someone to point the finger at so it all seems more manageable.”

“I know.” Castiel replied, ripping the length of tape from the roll as the moved down, starting up again at her waist, “I’m not angry with her. I understand why she said what she did, and I don’t feel guilty for anything that I’ve done, it’s just…” He couldn’t finish, and instead he tapered off, letting the rip and tug of the tape fill in the gaps for him. He wouldn’t know where to begin, and the thought of explaining it to another person filled him with the worst kind of dread.

“Listen, I don’t know for sure why the two of you were hiding it, but I’ve been around long enough that I can hazard a guess.” Dale had stopped taping, and instead he reached out and grabbed one of Castiel’s hands, effectively halting his progress as well, “And I just wanted to say, that if you are afraid of anyone in this camp taking issue with the fact that you and Daryl are—”

“Daryl and I aren’t anything.”

“Cas, you don’t have to pretend, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” The hand around his clutched a little tighter, and though Dale was trying to look him in the eye, he stared at their joined hands resolutely. With a sigh, Dale pushed onwards, “You aren’t going to want to hear this, but Andrea isn’t the only person who knows.”

“How?” Murmuring under his breath, Cas gave up trying to fight. It was clear this conversation was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, and he couldn’t be bothered to fret about who might know. It was all over anyways, “I thought we were being careful.”

With a small chuckle, Dale released his hand and sat down in the dirt with a grunt, “You aren’t much of an actor, and Daryl’s even worse. It’s like he thinks no one’s looking at him when you’re around, and the other night? When Sophia was painting your nails by the fire? He looked at you with the same helpless sort of adoration I used to feel whenever I watched my wife in our garden, like a puppy looking up at his master. You take his breath away, and I could see it clear as day.”

Cas looked up hesitantly, an ungodly blush stealing across his cheeks and he was one part touched, three parts disgusted. Touched by the fact that Dale was telling him this, taking the time to humor him and care for his feelings when there was so much other shit going on. And disgusted with the fact that he was letting himself feel giddy about how painfully obvious Daryl’s feelings for him were all along, when he was in the middle of wrapping up a corpse.

As if he read his mind, Dale shook his head gently, “You can’t just stop everything because someone was lost.” He sighed heavily, patting Amy on the knee through the thin, white shroud, “I loved this girl, and I love her sister. They’re the kindest, sweetest girls I’ve ever met and if I had children, they’re who I like to imagine my kids would have been like. I have grieved her and will continue to grieve her as the days go by.” When he looked up at Castiel again, despite his wry smile there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes, “But life is for the living, and if we don’t take care of the people we have left, we will end up losing them too. You were pretty callously outed in front of the whole camp, and from the way Daryl took off out of here, I take it things aren’t going to be all kosher with him right now either… and I wanted to take the time to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well thank you for the concern Dale, but I’m fine.”

“Then you won’t mind if I keep talking then.”

Eyebrow raised, Cas sat back on his haunches with a huff and waited for his inevitable elaboration.

“I was able to see right away what was going on, but it was only because… well, because I’m older, I notice more. I’m able to sit back and recognize things others often miss.” Dale leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he sat cross-legged in front of Castiel, “I think Lori knows, but I think you were aware of that. Carol knows, and Andrea, obviously. And Glenn, but only because the poor kid walked by your tent a few weeks back, and then he just felt terrible about it he had to tell someone, so he told me.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Castiel asked exasperatedly, fishing a bent up pack of smokes out of the pocket of his jeans and lighting one up. He didn’t understand Dale at all right now. He was apparently trying to make him feel better, but all he was doing was rubbing evidence of their failure in his face, and making it all the more apparent that this blow out was going to have happened sooner or later anyways.

“I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that it’s not a big deal!” Dale held his palms out, gesturing around to the camp, “The five of us knew this whole time, and we didn’t even feel like we had to mention it. So you’re gay, it’s a non-issue. Daryl was a little surprising, sure, but that’s not his fault, it’s just the environment he was raised in shaping our prejudice but none of us would ever give you a hard time, or treat either of you poorly for it. And we wouldn’t just sit back and let anyone hassle you about it either.”

“And if you’re worried about the others in the camp? Well, now was probably as good a time to come out with it as any, they have much bigger things to worry about.” Dale looked at him somberly, “The only one out of this whole group I can foresee being a problem? Shane, maybe. But to be honest,” he brought his voice down to a whisper and leaned closer, “I think he might be a problem regardless. Anyways, the fact of the matter is that if you and Daryl are together—”

“Dale, you misunderstand me.” With a sharp exhale, Castiel flicked his smoke with more force than necessary in the dirt beside him, before standing in one fluid motion, “When I say Daryl and I aren’t anything, I mean it. I’m not just being obtuse. We aren’t together, because after that outburst? He’s not even going to look at me.”

Dale scrambled to his feet as well, cutting Castiel off as he tried to walk past him. “You can’t be serious,” he said hesitantly, placing both of his on Cas’ arms to halt him as he looked up into his face, “this could be good for you! The pressure is off, there’s no more need for secrecy. Why would he do that?”

“What was it you were saying? About his upbringing, the environment he was raised in?” Castiel shook off his hands, “Think about it. It wasn’t my idea to sneak around behind everyone’s back.” His hands shoved into his pockets, he started walking back towards the solitude of his tent, “Thank you, Dale.”

He managed to keep it together till he was well past the tree line, out of view of all the cloying eyes he felt following his every movement. As appreciative he was with the concern, it wasn’t wanted. He hadn’t wanted to address it then, he only needed to drown himself in hard labour until he was ready to pass out, so that he could willfully ignore the cold emptiness of his tent that night. So he could sleep without his lovers soothing presence for the first time since they got together.

His hands fisted at his sides, he forced himself to stop just outside the clearing, falling bodily back against a large elm tree as he breathed deeply, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of birds overhead. He felt the warm summer breeze as much as he heard it rustling the leaves around him, a small comfort he imagined for those still toiling in the sun. It was no comfort to him, however, his skin flushed and horribly warm as anxiety churned in his gut, and that voice called to him distantly once more, asking him if it was worth feeling like this.

A sharp whistle broke him from his reverie, and when he opened his eyes Daryl was sitting in the center of the clearing, gesturing for Cas to join him. Surprised, he faltered for a moment. He was certain that Daryl wouldn’t so much as look at him for days, maybe even weeks. Or at the very least, he wouldn’t talk to him, not willingly. He was convinced he would have to strong-arm him into it as he had to in the past, cornering him into an argument so Daryl would finally have to face his feelings and talk to him. So for him to sit there, nervous but calm, actively beckoning Castiel to join him?

It was kind of unnerving.

As Castiel slowly crossed the clearing, he found himself almost longing for a full scale blowout. For them to yell and scream and stomp their feet, to circle and snap at each other’s throats until they were too exhausted to fight anymore. He knew how to do that, and he knew where he stood. He learned how to defend himself first and foremost as a human through tooth and nail, and though he eventually adopted a healthy dose of nihilism, it was still the only form of confrontation he was comfortable with. He sat across from Daryl on one of the old fold up chairs they swiped from the camp proper, his fingers clenching nervously on the armrests and his thigh bouncing uncontrollably. He didn’t even know where to begin.

They sat in silence for a long while, neither daring to break it, and not willing to look at one another either. Daryl was just as anxious as he was from the looks of it, he just showed it in different ways. His thumb hadn’t moved from its permanent home between his teeth, and whenever Castiel hazarded a glance in his direction he could see him crossing and uncrossing his legs at the ankles. He heard him breathe audibly when he moved, a loud and adamant puff that made Cas’ shoulders jolt with shock at every uncoordinated interval. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and it grated on his nerves as the seconds ticked onwards. The sounds of the forest even seemed to dissipate, the bird song dying and the wind crashing to a halt.

“Cas, stop.”

His gaze snapped to Daryl at the gentle command, eyes narrowing imperceptibly, “What is it I’m supposed to be stopping? I’m not doing anything.”

“Thinking so hard, I can almost hear you.” Daryl spoke tightly but not unkindly, and even though his face was closed off and impassive there was still a familiar warmth in his voice that started to seep into Castiel, soothing his fraying nerves against his will, “You’re scaring the animals off, and the wind.”

“That’s ridiculous, I don’t control the wind.”

“Sure you don’t.” Daryl all but rolled his eyes and Castiel felt a spark of anger kindling in his chest, unbidden and confusing, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter right now. You told me the last time something like this happened not to cut you out again, and you were right to, it wasn’t fair. So, this is me not cutting you out. What do we do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do’?” Leaning forward in his seat, Castiel levelled him with an unerring gaze. That anger was bubbling now, just under the surface and Cas didn’t understand where it was coming from. Daryl was right, he was doing what he asked him too, but there was a patronizing quality to his tone of voice that raked him, “There’s nothing to do. It’s done, everyone knows. No more hiding and no more of this stress, Daryl we could actually be together.” Cas raised an eyebrow in his direction, “That was the eventual goal, right?”

“Course it was,” Daryl sat forward as well, flattening his feet on the ground as he clutched his knees in a bruising grip, “it still is, but now is clearly not the time! How many people died last night? Everyone’s on edge, everyone’s in mourning and Shane and Rick are at each other’s throats. And Andrea was right, you know. We should’ve been more careful, we should’ve thought about the rest of the camp instead of just ourselves, and ‘cause of us, all of those people—”

“Daryl.” Cas called out softly, on his feet and moving towards him with no hesitation, “Daryl stop.” Dropping to his knees in front of him, Castiel flattened his hands over Daryl’s own, stroking his thumbs across his knuckles and willing them to relinquish their punishing hold, “We did nothing wrong. We did the same thing we do every night, the same thing that every other person in this camp does all the time… we took a moment to ourselves. We didn’t know the camp would be attacked. The trap lines were secure, we had Jim on watch but we still missed it because sometimes these things just happen, isn’t that what you told me last night? I personally checked those lines three times yesterday. We are not responsible for those people’s deaths.”

“And what about everyone else?” Daryl asked dejectedly, “Do they feel the same? Or are they working away now, getting bodies buried and burned, thinking that maybe Andrea was right?”

“What if they are?” Looking up at him imploringly, Cas wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s wrist, bringing his hand up to his lips and kissing his palm tenderly, “We can’t control what other people do and think, what matters is we know it’s not true. Andrea does too, she’s just grieving. And don’t you see, this can be a good thing!”

“How?” Breaking from his hold, Daryl sat back sharply, crossing his arms across his chest, “In what universe could this be considered _good_? Everyone heard her Cas! Everyone… how the hell am I supposed to face them now? How do you expect me to go out there, with everyone knowing that you and I are… that we’ve been…?”

Castiel tore his hands back as if he had been burned, bristling, “I would choose your next words very, very carefully if I were you.” He spoke steadily, but his anger and hurt were tangible in his curt delivery and the quivering of his lower lip, “What are we Daryl? What am I to you that it would be so appalling for people to know that you’ve been sleeping with me?”

“Castiel, don’t do that.”

“Don’t point out your hypocrisy?” He stood, fists clenched at his sides, anger rolling off of him in waves as he tried desperately to mask his hurt feelings, “Honestly, you’re going to have to explain this to me like I’m a child then. Because I don’t understand how you can spend last night sharing something with me more intimate than anything we’ve done before, listen to me spill all of my fears and insecurities and then tell me you _love_ me, only to completely deny me the second someone calls you on it. This keeps happening Daryl, and I’m tired of it! The very instant your fragile guise of heterosexuality is threatened, you toss me aside like I’m garbage!”

He threw his hands up in frustration and turned his back, stalking across the clearing in an attempt to put some space between them. Cas couldn’t even look at him right now, his blood was boiling and that nagging voice in his head was now screaming at him so loudly he could barely focus. He dimly registered the sound of Daryl’s chair scraping across the gravel, and his hurried, stomping footfalls as he trailed after him, before he felt Daryl’s hand grasp him by the upper arm and turn him less than gently.

“Let go of me.” Castiel urged, his voice shaking and his gaze locked on his arm in Daryl’s grip.

Daryl ignored him though, and instead he reached out to grasp Cas’ other arm in an equally powerful hold, forcing making Cas to look at him. “How could you even think any of what I said to you last night wasn’t true?” As his grip tightened around his arms, Castiel could feel that horrible, aching panic rising like bile in the back of his throat, “Do you honestly believe I would’ve told you any of it if I didn’t mean it? You know me better than that!”

“Please, let go of me.” Pleading quietly, Cas tried to pull back, looking anywhere but at Daryl, at his face. He could feel his heart beating in the tips of his fingers, a clammy cold sweat running down his spine and Daryl’s voice was getting dimmer and more distant.

“This has nothing to do with you Cas, and everything to do with me!”

“Get off of me!”

With a shout and a lunge, Castiel broke out of his hold shoving himself backwards with enough force to knock him off his feet. He heard the impact as his ass hit the ground more than he felt it, and instinct took over as he climbed to his feet, putting a good distance and the burned out fire pit between the two of them. As soon as he was far enough away he doubled over, breathing hard and steadying himself with hands on his knees, staring at Daryl like a cornered animal ready to run or fight. He tapped his forefinger insistently against his knee, counting out each tap as he tried to calm down.

Daryl for his part looked unconscionably shocked, hands still hanging in the air in the same position they were in when they were holding onto Cas’ arms. “Castiel.” Daryl spoke softly, now holding only one palm out in front of him as he slowly inched forwards, and in the back of his mind Cas found it almost amusing that this was becoming a pattern for them, “Come on, baby I’m not gonna… you know I would never hurt you.”

“You keep saying that, but then you do anyways.” His voice was no louder than a murmur, but he knew the instant Daryl heard him. He stopped his slow shuffling forwards, and Cas could hear his sharp intake of breath as clearly as he saw the pang of hurt flash across his face, “Maybe not physically, but you tear me up inside and I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I want to believe you, and I do believe you care for me… when we’re alone. Everything you’ve been with me and all the kindness you’ve shown, nothing anyone else has ever done for me can compare to that. But it’s like we’ve made our own little world in here, in this tiny patch of woods, and it’s not real.” He stood up straight and gestured over to the campsite, “That out there? That’s real, those people are real. And they depend on us as much as we depend on them, there’s no extricating our lives from theirs. So if we can’t find a way to consolidate what we have in here, with the people out there? I don’t think we can keep this up.”

“What if they won’t accept it?” Daryl asked, standing determined and strong across the chasm of the fire pit, but Castiel could hear the way his voice broke as he talked, “So now they know, but what if they don’t agree with it? With us? Cas, I can’t take that risk. I don’t know who hurt you or why,” Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, “but I don’t ever want that to happen again. I can’t let that happen again.”

“You have to trust me.” Castiel implored, “I can take care of myself… and if ever I can’t? Then it’s still not your responsibility. It’s not up to you to keep me safe, to put me in a glass cage and take away my autonomy on the off chance I might get hurt. You said to me last night that you can’t hide from death, because it’s a part of living, right?” Daryl nodded, “Well the same goes for pain. I have experienced more than my fair share in my short time as a human, and I know that the only reason it exists is to make everything good in this world worth anything. You have to risk something to gain something, and all of the good that I have experienced has always come at a price, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. And you and me? It’s the best thing to happen to me in a very, very long time. So if I have to take a risk to be with you, then that’s what I’ll do. And you have to respect my right to make that decision.”

“I’m sorry for your father, and for anyone else who hurt you, I truly am.” Cas barrelled on, finally getting to speak his piece for the first time since that night in the woods, under the stars with that stupid blue backpack, “But you can’t let your own fear convince you that you can control me, or that you need to at all. That’s your baggage, and I will help you carry it but Daryl I cannot take it on myself. I have my own.”

“Cas, it’s not like a switch I can just turn on or off.” He was moving, Cas noted with a thrum of anxiety, but he held his ground as Daryl rounded the fire pit, drawing closer to him as he spoke, “I understand what you’re saying, fuck I agree with you. You’re right. And I know that I’m being paranoid, that I’m grasping at straws trying to explain away a behaviour that I don’t really understand. There’s no logic behind it, it’s all gut instinct. And I tried, baby I tried so hard today not to snap or run off… to stand my ground and listen to you, to talk to you in front of all of those people but it was like something broke in me when you started speaking, and I had to get away. I couldn’t face ‘em.”

“This didn’t just happen overnight,” Daryl continued, standing nearly three feet away from him, keeping his distance and his hands in his pockets, “I learned this over years, and you have to believe that I’m trying. But I can’t make it go away just like that, and to have everyone find out all in one fell swoop, that was the worst possible scenario. I have no idea who is going to say what, or how anyone is going to react, which means I’m basically just a tickin’ time bomb, man. There are just too many variables, sixteen whole people who I have to keep tabs on, whether I want to or not!”

“Eleven.”

“What?”

“Eleven people found out about us today,” Castiel expanded meekly, “Glenn, Andrea, Lori, Carol and Dale already knew.”

With a stunned laugh, Daryl stepped back, swaying on his feet slightly and carding his fingers through his hair. He looked dismal, his eyes darting around the clearing as he tried to steady himself, “How? How did they find out?” He asked, “And how long’ve you known?”

“I only just found out about Andrea when she went off on me. And Dale told me after you left about him and Glenn… they just watched us, I think. We weren’t as careful as we thought.”

“And Lori? Carol?”

“Remember when I said I saved your last note from getting washed away in the quarry?” Daryl nodded sullenly, and Castiel couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, “I didn’t save it, Carol did. But I wasn’t sure if she read it or not, she didn’t say anything so I didn’t want to worry you. And when you caught Lori and me laughing, outside of my tent yesterday morning? She basically told me she knew, but in a really roundabout way. I was going to tell you, and in my head I knew that I should but I just—”

“Didn’t trust me?”

“I guess not.” Cas sighed in frustration, running his hands down his face, “Daryl, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to resolve this and I feel like we’re just running in circles. And I’m so tired, I’m exhausted by all of this lying and secrecy, I… I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“I’m sorry too.” Daryl walked up beside him, reaching out a hand but not touching him, only tilting his head, silently asking for permission. When Cas nodded he rushed forwards, cupping the back of his neck and bringing their foreheads together, “Cas, I meant what I said. I love you, there’s no doubt in my mind that I do.”

Bringing his hands up from his sides, Castiel loosely coiled his fingers in Daryl’s hair and tugged gently, drawing him into a sweet kiss. Their lips slid hesitantly against one another, and Castiel’s mouth parted in a soft moan as Daryl grasped at his hips, pulling their bodies flush together before breaking apart. “I love you too,” he whispered, barely inches between them and Castiel drew in a deep breath, his heart aching as he gathered up the courage to say what he needed to. “But I don’t think this is working, not the way things are now. And I think we might need to take a step back. We don’t trust each other, not in this at least, you can’t just change who you are overnight and I can’t keep letting myself be stepped over. I promised myself, when I left Chitaqua and Dean that I would never let myself be taken advantage of again, and Daryl I feel like I’m letting you do just that.”

Cas held tight, keeping him close as he felt him beginning to pull away. He could see in Daryl’s face he knew where this was going, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, “And it’s not fair to you either. I don’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable, and I don’t want to fight with you, so I lie to you to keep the peace but that’s not right of me. We’re at a stalemate, and I think it might be best if we just… called this off for a while.”

“You’re, um,” Daryl’s voice cracked, cutting him off sharply. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes tight, lifting his head to press his lips firmly to Castiel’s forehead, “you’re right. You’re absolutely right, you know, we ran headlong into this with a half-cocked plan. But Cas I never wanted to hurt you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do,” He murmured gently, dragging the tips of his fingers to the center to Daryl’s chest and pressing steadfastly, “and I’m not trying to hurt you now, just the opposite. If we keep this up, we are going to ruin each other, and this thing between us that I don’t even have a name for has been…” closing his eyes, Cas took a deep breath to steady himself after the finality of that past tense, “You saved me.”

His eyes still shut, he could hear Daryl’s breath quickening as he grazed their cheeks together and gripped him a little tighter. “So we’ll take a break and figure something out. We can’t keep this up, not anymore, not with everyone knowing, I would be a suspicious mess.” Daryl confessed, “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even been with someone, much less had to leave ‘em.”

“Me neither.”

“Cas, I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, Daryl. We can. Just for a little while, to give us some time to breathe. And then maybe we’ll be able to think a little more clearly?” Cas said with conviction, only to waver at the end, his hands falling to and pawing at Daryl’s shoulders, “You have to promise me it won’t be forever, please. I can’t do it if you say its forever.”

With one fluid motion Daryl wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him in close as he buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. Gripping his shoulders tightly, Cas turned his head to the side, nosing at his temple before kissing him softly. He heard a snuffling, hushed affirmation spoken into the side of his neck, and with a pat to his back Daryl pulled away, his face red and moisture clinging to his eye lashes which he wasted no time in scrubbing away with the back of his hand. He nodded once more, and without another word he grabbed his bow and trudged out into the woods.

Castiel had been a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent for over three quarters of his existence. He had seen kings rise to power, empires tumble and fall. He had witness the path of nature and see evolution in motion. He had watched a flower bud and bloom and die in a millisecond, only to roll back the clock and watch it happen all over again, just because he could.

He had witnessed heartbreak and loss across centuries, had seen Cleopatra and Mark Antony kill themselves rather than be captured and separated, and watched Heloise cry over her ledger as she wrote to her lover Abelard, whom she would never see again. He had read tragic romances in every book from every era, of Orpheus and Eurydice, Rochester and Jane Eyre, Vronsky and Anna Karenina. And he would be the first to say that in witnessing such a loss, he did not understand the human’s reaction to it. It made no sense at all to him, especially when both partners were willing and complacent in their departure from one another that men would then beat their breasts and cry out to the heavens, and that women would weep into their pillows, or throw themselves from balconies from the pain of it all. Their actions were what begat their consequences, and Castiel had no way of comprehending why after parting, they would grieve as if they lost something even more precious than their own life.

Well Castiel was human now, and he ran headfirst into understanding their heartbreak like it was a brick wall.

Once Daryl was out of earshot, he stumbled over his own feet on his way to his tent, supressing an awful, wailing moan until he was safely inside, the flap closed and curled into a ball on his sleeping bag. He had never felt this horrible before in his life, and he had been stabbed, shot, poisoned, and obliterated by an archangel on an atomic level. His stomach ached, his chest was too tight, and his head was an uncomfortable amalgam of completely empty and far too full. And this longing, this deep and persistent longing that urged him to go find Daryl, to tell him he made a mistake, to beg him for forgiveness clawed at his back. He knew he had made the right decision, they had ended things on amicable terms… but still he felt like he messed up. That he made a mistake.

It was worse than Dean, it was harder than every time he stole into his cabin, every second he burned his touch into Castiel’s flesh only to leave without a word when it was over. The same remorse, and guilt and sense of abandonment lurked under the surface but it was overshadowed by this deep and grieving loss. Because this time with Daryl he was casting aside something that he knew he could, and did, have. Something reciprocated, a deep and concrete knowledge of what it truly felt like to love somebody who loved you in return.

It’s only temporary, he told himself, tossing Daryl’s pillow to the foot of the tent, unable to even stand the smell of him at the moment. He rolled onto his back and dug the heels of his palms against his eyes, forcing himself into composure. He used to be an angel, he could handle this! He wasn’t going to cry himself to sleep in his tent when there was a job to do outside. People had died, and he was mourning a relationship that was never real in the first place.

It certainly felt real though.

“There are so many things I hate about being human,” Castiel muttered to himself, wiping his eyes and scrubbing at his nose with his shirt sleeve, before laying back and staring solemnly at the roof of his tent, “but you were never one of them.”

 

* * *

 

Daryl, almost literally, buried himself in work.

He could do nothing else. He had stalked off after his conversation with Castiel and tried to compose himself in solitude, but the longer he was alone the worse his gut twisted, and nothing he did could stop his head from humming mindlessly. Droning on and on, supplying little memories of things he feared he’d never get to see again, unwelcome to the forefront of his mind. All small things, smiles and candid conversations that might seem inconsequential to anyone else, but that stuffed up his nose and stung his eyes all the same.

He’d promised Cas (and he wasn’t lying) that this wouldn’t be permanent, and he knew that this was the most logical decision for them. But there was this nagging voice telling him that they weren’t going to solve anything apart, that he needed to go to him and make amends. To take him out in front of the whole camp and kiss him senseless, just to prove to Castiel that he cared more about him than he did the opinions of strangers. And he did, there was no one left alive that he cared for more.

He couldn’t bring himself to even think about it though. Even the inevitability of having to drag his ass out of the woods and rejoin the rest of the camp was enough to chill him to the bone, leaving him to pace in circles through the trees for hours until he finally had to bite the bullet and just _go._ And when he did he kept his head down, throwing himself into his work, wrapping bodies and tossing them onto the flatbed of his truck at record speed to keep his mind off of the concerned glances and barely there whispers… most of which he wasn’t convinced were actually real outside of his head. Thankfully though, no one had spoken to him about what happened with Andrea, so he had been able to maintain his composure. It seemed the majority had decided to just pretend nothing had ever happened, and Daryl sardonically thought he could have used people like this back when he was growing up.

Driving the truck a short ways to the burial sites was a bit of a reprieve. He longed to take Merles bike and just go for a ride, and he missed the solitude and thoughtlessness of the open road. But he already felt guilty enough, though he wouldn’t show it, for having taken so much of the day to himself. The time spent with Castiel last night while the rest of the camp mourned, and their explosive break up that afternoon while everyone else worked. He wasn’t heartless, far from it and though he would never let it on, it was the least he could do to help and not shirk his duties.

Castiel had emerged from the woods not long after Daryl had, and was immediately cornered by Lori, who spoke to him in hushed, urgent tones before he was carted off to help with the kids. Daryl had caught his eye briefly before having to turn away, his heart twisting painfully as he saw Cas center himself in the group of children with their mothers, trying to distract from what was going on around them and explain in ways they would understand the deaths of their friends and family.

He was always good with them, Daryl thought to himself. Castiel was almost like a child himself, so much older than he could conceptualize but so new to humanity, it was as if he could understand where they were coming from, all of their hurt and confusion in a way that other adults just couldn’t. It was why they took to him so readily, like when Louis Morales was startled by a snake and he ran sobbing to Cas, not his mother, because he knew Castiel wouldn’t talk down to him about his overreaction. Or when Carl’s mom snapped at him for some reason, frustrated and overwhelmed herself, and he went to Cas instead of his own father, because he knew Castiel would explain to him exactly why she had reacted the way she did, instead of sugar-coating it or telling him a lie. 

It had been one of Daryl’s favorite things to watch, Castiel’s slow integration as the camps caretaker, the person adults and children alike would go to for sound advice. It was as if they could sense his preternatural wisdom in the way he would squint his kind, blue eyes when asked a question, or the unassuming way he’d tilt his head in consideration. He could distinctly remember swelling with pride the first time Rick had come to their clearing one night as they sat by their own small fire, huddled over the same worn out copy of the _Madame Bovary_ , to ask Castiel his opinion on the camps ration system. It was like an acknowledgement of what he had held to so tightly, vindication that this man really was as impressive as Daryl thought he was.

So Daryl was unsurprised when he rolled up to the burial site and saw Castiel standing by Shane and Rick, discussing what their next moves were.

“I heard the C.D.C. was working on a cure.” Rick attested, his voice stern but his face twisted into a mere mockery of control. He was grasping at straws, and it was clear everyone knew it, but Daryl had to admire the resolve it took to keep up that façade in the face of that kind of disheartenment, “If it’s still up and running, we could get Jim there, get him help. There might even be a cure.”

“Man, that is a stretch right there.” Shane piped in, leaning forward on the handle of a shovel, “Fort Benning, man it’s what I keep telling you. If we’re looking for shelter, survival? It’s at the army base there.”

“The army was overrun Shane, we’ve all seen it!” Stepping forward, Rick bent at the knees, leaning forward so he and Shane were mere inches apart, “And this is Jim’s only chance at survival.”

“I hate to say it Rick, I do.” Castiel was sitting on a mound of dirt as he spoke, and grabbing a handful he slowly let it slip from his grasp, so dry it cascaded like sand through his fingers back down to the pile, “But there’s not going to be a cure. Something this widespread? Having gone on for so long? If there was a cure it would have been distributed already, or it’s on a different continent with what’s left of this country’s leadership. And besides, Jim isn’t going to last the journey. So we need to take saving him out of consideration, I’m sorry.”

Dropping into a crouch, Rick stared hard at Castiel, scanning his face and sighing when all he could find was unabashed sincerity. “He’s a human being Cas, I can’t just give up on him.”

“He’s a goner Rick, and we all know it,” Shane, the last one standing slid down the long arm of the shovel, squatting beside the three of them and turning their meeting into a bona fide huddle, “Cas is in agreement man, you’re the odd one out. We head to Fort Benning.”

“I didn’t say that,” Cas interjected, holding his hand up to stop Shane from assuming further, “I just said the C.D.C. wouldn’t have a cure. Fort Benning will be the death of us, the army had no chance of holding off the initial wave of infection and it would have been the place civilians flocked to first, meaning it will be a hotspot for Croats. If by chance there are any still alive there…” He trailed off and fixed a pointed gaze at Rick, “The majority of our people at Chitaqua were soldiers, and believe me when I say you don’t want to be sleeping in the same quarters as them, not now that everything has fallen apart. Soldiers without rules are not the kinds of people you want to fuck around with.”

“I think the C.D.C. would be the smartest place to hole up, gather resources and rest before moving on. If the facility is still standing it will be impregnable, if it is as important to national security as you say it was.” Continuing onward and ignoring Shane’s irate grunt, Castiel grabbed the map that had been lying beside them, pointing out the C.D.C.’s location, “If we take Martin Luther King Junior Drive then head up north we can loop around the city without having to go through it. We should have just enough fuel to get us there. I think we should make a pit stop at the C.D.C., see what we can find, siphon some gas and then keep moving. The safest place for us is on the coast.”

“How do you figure?” Rick queried, and even from their distance Daryl could see the genuine interest in his eyes.

“It cuts off an entire direction we can be ambushed from, and we’d be more likely to be able to grow crops there. More open space, less people would have flocked to the coast too if we pick our location carefully, and there might not be as many Croats as there will be inland.” Castiel pointed to the small clusters of islands off the coast of south eastern Georgia, “Besides, with any luck we might be able to find an island like this off the coast… that would be ideal.”

With a nod, Rick rose to his feet, “We’ll talk more about this later, but I think for right now the course is clear.” He looked at Shane as he stood, then back to Castiel for confirmation, who answered with a nod, “We head to the C.D.C. tomorrow morning.”

As they broke away, hauling bodies into their final resting places Daryl couldn’t help but feel kind of skeevy for eavesdropping. Also for watching Castiel as he walked through the rows of graves, helping to shovel the last of the dirt over their dead friends. He could have kicked himself as he realized Castiel was right about how obvious he must have been all along, and how easy it must have been for people to find out about them. He was aware of how blatant his attentions were now, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him… he was always watching Cas, no wonder Andrea had found out about them.

But he couldn’t stop. Not even as they were standing around the rows of filled in graves in complete silence, children whimpering against their mothers and adults standing sightlessly, unable to speak even if they knew what to say. He watched Cas from the corner of his eye, the grief and responsibility etched into the lines of his face, and the only sound echoing across the hill came from Andrea as she sobbed into Dale’s shoulder. Daryl saw as he shuffled hesitantly between his feet as Dale mentioned someone should say something, before Cas took that as a cue to step forward and begin to speak himself.

“’Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us.’” He spoke softly, his eyes downcast at the mounds of turned earth before him, and the crowd of people around him fell silent, “’Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away.’”

“’We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves.’” Dale rang in, still holding Andrea tightly to his side, watching Castiel with the same rapt intensity as Daryl, as Lori and Rick. Everyone. For the first time, Daryl thought to himself, all eyes and not just his own, were on him.

“’And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly.’” Castiel continued on, his head down and eyes forward, a nervous shaking of his hands as they were clenched at his sides the only indication of his nerves, “’Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.’”

With a deep and trembling breath, Cas looked up, biting his lip and closing his eyes as he paused around the stanzas Daryl knew he hadn’t forgotten, only struggled to get out. Sure and steady, Lori reached out to him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and nodding to him, urging him to finish when he turned to meet her, “’They existed.’”

“’They existed.’” Dale echoed.

“’We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.’”

“Maya Angelou,” Breaking the hush that fell over them, Dale slapped a comforting palm against Castiel’s shoulder, “A beautiful choice. Thank you.”

Looking now amongst the faces of the mourners surrounding them, Daryl saw their expressions had changed into ones of solemnity, of dignified perseverance and even Andrea had lifted her head, looking forward at the grave of her sister with a small, resolved smile. He heard amongst their ensuing chatter, and the sounds of their steps the chirping of crickets that weren’t there as Castiel spoke, and as the wind that had all but stopped picked up again, Daryl felt his heart clench with a sudden realization. Whether Castiel knew it or not, he had done something to these people, relieving them of the heaviness in their hearts not only through his borrowed words, but with this incidental magic he had no control over. His desire to help them had physically manifested, and it soothed them.

Daryl shook his head and forced himself to walk back to his truck, though his treacherous feet willed him to walk towards Castiel, to wait for him to finish speaking with Lori and ask him _how_. How can he not see the things happening around him, because of him? How can he do such incredible things, such unnatural feats, without even meaning to? And how powerful was he before he was human, that now he was only a mortal man, he still had such intense latent ability?

He ached, from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, and it felt like he had swallowed a rock if the heaviness of his stomach was anything to go by. He wanted to go to Cas so badly. It had been only hours and he missed him, he missed knowing he would see and hold him that night without fear of reprisal. Without that promise to greet him at the end of the night, the day seemed unbearable. Too tedious and long. Lonely and devoid, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the state of himself.

If Merle were there he’d call him a pussy, right before kicking his ass for having been in love at all.

And he was in love.

He was hopeless with it.

The next morning, as they were getting ready to hit the road, neither he nor Castiel looked all that great. They had avoided each other just fine throughout the rest of the day, but that night there was nowhere for them to go. They knew they were leaving in the morning, and they had to pack, but their shit was so muddled and incestuous that they were in and out of each other’s tents all night, without a word or a backwards glance, forcing themselves to maintain some semblance of composure.

It was too hard, they found, to speak with one another in that moment. Too fresh and new, were they to speak at all or even brush one another with an innocent touch their resolve would crumble, and they would fall back into bed with each other without a second thought. Instead they decided to just flit past one another, ignoring their consistent presence as best they could until it was time to retire to their respective tents.

Daryl’s tent, after a month of disuse had felt so cold. The had usually spent their nights in Castiel’s, as his was twice the size, but there were a few nights when the two of them had huddled close in that small space, speaking quietly as they tried to find some way to sleep.

It wasn’t that he slept better with Castiel around, truth be told he got more or less the same amount. Cas snored loudly whenever he managed to roll onto his back, and he was clingy like an overgrown octopus when he was really out for the count (one night Daryl had awoken to Castiel sprawled almost perpendicular across his torso, his hand smushed in Daryl’s face with both legs wrapped around one of his. If it weren’t so uncomfortable it might have been impressive). But his presence was calming, and he had gotten used to lulling himself to sleep with the gentle sounds of Castiel breathing. And when he couldn’t manage to turn his thoughts off long enough to even entertain the thought of sleeping, he could always count on Cas to notice his disquiet, awakening to run his fingers through Daryl’s hair or trace nonsensical patterns on his back, long enough to calm his mind into stillness.

So last night, without Cas, he had lay awake in his tent until the early hours of the morning, counting the seconds as they passed. There was nothing to be done. Daryl couldn’t even read to pass the time, everything he had packed in his own tent was garbage, or reminded him too much of nights spent leaning over the same book, Daryl amusedly slowing his breakneck pace so Cas could finish tearing each passage to shreds, mulling over the distinct thought process behind the choice of every word. He wasn’t the only one who wasn’t able to sleep though, as he could see Castiel’s lantern lit well into the morning, and could hear him tossing and turning from across the clearing.

Needless to say then, they both looked like garbage when they eventually had to hit the road.

The morning went off without a hitch, and they were on the road by seven, having left the Morales family behind after a brief and tearful goodbye. Castiel had taken the Impala (naturally), with T-Dog, Glenn and Andrea, surprisingly enough. He and Daryl had managed to be civil enough, if just a little curt, to negotiate storing his crap in the trunk of Cas’ car, but he didn’t miss the odd look Andrea gave them as they spoke quickly and impersonally. He brushed it off with only the tiniest twinge of righteous anger, trying to remind himself it wasn’t really her fault. She was just the catalyst.

He had done well so far, Daryl thought to himself as he barrelled down the highway on Merle’s old bike, diving around the cars in their convoy and driving Shane mental. Everything with Castiel had been a whole handful of firsts he never thought he would experience in his lifetime, a plethora of experiences he never for a second thought he would have to part with, and yet he had. And he was fine. Sure he had some rough moments and he couldn’t manage to get a night’s sleep to save his life, but he was just fine.

The wind whipped as he flew past the RV, rounding out and cutting in front of the Impala. It was a slow moving journey, but he had missed the feeling of the road beneath him, the powerful rumbling of the engine and the open air buffeting past, so much so he almost didn’t notice the tears tracking down his cheeks until his hair whipped and stuck to them. And as he fell back into pace in front of Castiel’s car and heard the faint sounds of glam metal reverberating through the frame, he chose to ignore as he choked on a deep, ugly sob.

He’d never been more grateful for the solitude of the open road than he was in that moment.

 

* * *

 

It was going to be a long, awkward car ride, Castiel mused as the rolled down the highway, sandwiched between Daryl and the RV.

He had offered to drive T-Dog and Glenn, not expecting Andrea to show up at the last second and ask for a lift as well. There was more than enough room in his car, and he couldn’t think of any reason to say no other than he really didn’t want to, so he had agreed without much trepidation. Really, what could she say that she hadn’t already?

They drove in silence for the first six miles, crossing north of Atlanta, most of his passengers watching the world pass by them through the window. Glenn tried to break the solemn mood every now and then with idle chatter, but no one other than T-Dog seemed to be in the mood to talk and even he got tired of it pretty quickly. There was nothing but the steady rumbling of the gravel under the tires, and the accompanying roar of Daryl’s bike, and Castiel was perfectly content to drive without a word between them the rest of the way to the C.D.C.

Andrea though, was not.

“Cas, I think I have to apologise.” She spoke in a normal, reasonable tone of voice but against the silence of the Impala it was deafening, and he saw Glenn jump through the rear-view mirror at its suddenness.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.” He muttered, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose.

With a doubtful look, she turned in the passenger seat to face him directly, “Of course I do. What I said was completely out of line, and it wasn’t my place to tell everyone about you and Daryl, I was just so upset, and I lashed out at the first person I could find and it was you.” Andrea reached out across the front seat of the Impala as she appeared to consider touching his arm, before thinking better of it and letting it fall on the bench between them, “I had just lost Amy, twice, and it shouldn’t be an excuse but it’s the best one I got. And I didn’t mean to cause trouble for the two of you.”

“Andrea, stop.”

“No, please let me finish, I have to get this out.” She turned her eyes forward with a huff, and Castiel could feel the tension rising. He heard the backseat squeak as T-Dog shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Glenn gulp audibly before Andrea continued, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, and I didn’t think I had, but seeing the two of you not talking? Or even worse, how you spoke to each other this morning, when you were loading the trunk? If I had known it would have made things so difficult for you, I’d like to believe I would have thought twice about saying anything.”

“You still would have said something.” Castiel attested firmly, and before she could interject he kept on going, “But it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Whether it was you or someone else, it was only so long before everyone found out. It always had an expiration date, I just thought I had a little more time.”

“Cas…”

“Now, can we please stop talking about this?” He turned his eyes off of the road for just a second to look at her pleadingly over his sunglasses, “I promise there is nothing to forgive, if you’ll just let me drop the subject.”

Andrea gave him a small, withering smile and a barely there nod before whispering okay, and plunging the car back into its previous silence. Only this time, the frame shook with the weight of the awkward tension that was radiating off of every one of them, and Castiel found himself nervously tapping at the steering wheel for a few minutes before muttering a hasty “Fuck this,” and popping in one of Dean’s old cassettes.

“Talk Dirty to Me” rang out loud through the Impala’s stereo, and every single passenger in the car jumped in unison.

“Oh wow, this takes me back,” Andrea laughed, shaking her head, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Poison fan.”

“I’m not,” Cas admitted sheepishly, opening the glove compartment and showing her the plethora of tapes stacked in it, grateful that the mood had taken such a welcome and dramatic shift, “This was Dean’s car, and this is all Dean’s music. I never used to listen to much music, except for whenever I drove with the Winchester’s, but during my own drive to Georgia I managed to make it through the majority of them.”

“Cassette tapes?” Glenn remarked with amusement, leaning forward in his seat, “He never got a CD player in this thing? Or an IPod dock or something?”

“I guess not.” Turning down the volume, Castiel cast a glance over his shoulder and shot Glenn a good-natured smile, for once in his life happy for idle small talk. And this was about the Winchester’s, something he was very well versed in, “I think he was kind of a traditionalist.”

“There’s traditional, and then there’s archaic.” T-Dog quipped, rifling under the front seat and finding more cassettes as he did, “This car belongs in a museum, no doubt about that.”

“Yeah, Dean fixed her up more times than I can say.” Cas spoke with a wistful, faraway voice that had all eyes on him for a moment, “She was a hand-me-down, from his father so I don’t think he wanted to change anything. He basically rebuilt her from the ground up, but he left all the little things the way they were.”

“It’s nice that you have something like this to remember him by.” Andrea said softly, her gaze falling mournfully, and this time it was Cas who reached out a hand to her, but thought better of it.

“Hey, Cas… what are these?”

 Looking back through the rear-view mirror, Castiel swallowed audibly as Glenn held up handfuls of fake ID’s.

“U.S. Wildlife Service Agents Ford and… Hamill.” Glenn passed those two to T-Dog who huffed a laugh as he read them, “US Marshals Billy Gibbons and Frank Beards, FBI Agents Geddy and Lee… seriously?” He was floored, and chuckled as he passed the ID’s around to Andrea, who cocked a questioning eyebrow at Castiel, who was trying in vain to keep his eyes on the road.  

“Woah, Cas you have one too! FBI Agent _Eddie Moscone_!?” Glenn looked up at him in complete disbelief, “What is this? What are all of these, are these Dean and Sam?”

“Yeah, that’s them,” Cas said through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek from his temple to his jaw as he tried to think of a way to explain this away.

“What were you three doing with fake government ID’s?” Andrea asked stoically, leaning against the door and giving Cas her full attention, as Bret Michaels wailed on in the background, “Especially ones with such obviously fake names, I mean, did you ever use these? Was anyone ever fooled?”

Castiel nodded and shrugged, “You’d be surprised what people tend to believe if you are assertive enough.”

“But what were you doing with these?”

“Sometimes we had jobs to do where we weren’t exactly… qualified or welcome.” He answered steadily, clenching his hands around the steering wheel, “And sometimes, people feel more comfortable answering questions to an authority figure.”

He heard T-Dog burst into a fit of laughter, shaking his head before leaning forward between Castiel and Andrea over the front seat, “Were you three like con-artists or something?

With a sly smile, he quirked his eyebrow and gave T-Dog the best side eye he could muster over the tops of his aviators. “Or something.” He murmured, and turned his attention back to the road.

“Come on, you have to tell us more than that!” Glenn declared, leaning forward alongside T-Dog, ID’s and badges still clutched in both hands, “It’s not like any of that matters now, right?”

“Sorry,” He replied swiftly, tailing Daryl as he took a swift turn up ahead, “you’ll just have to keep guessing.”

Not that they would ever land on the truth, even if they tried.


	13. At the C.D.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, thanks for sticking around! This chapter contains one instance of attempted rape (which is canon, and not described in detail), as well as the aftermath of a suicide (not described in detail but described none the less). Thank you for all of your comments and kudos, you guys are the bomb, and I hope you enjoy this new installment!

“You know, in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France.”

Castiel smiled as he watched Lori shake her head genially, placing her hand over her son’s glass at Dale’s suggestion, “Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then.”

Sitting around the large cafeteria table, eating the first solid meal they’ve had in three days, their rag tag bunch of survivors seemed almost at peace. It was the most comfortable Castiel had ever seen them as they passed bottles of wine and liquor back and forth, swapping stories and planning out what to do with the rest of their night. Carol was overjoyed at the prospect of being able to have a full nights rest without fear of ambush, and Glenn was gushing about hot, running water in between sips of cabernet. It was like they were people again, their personalities coming to light in a way they hadn’t been able to since the turn, and his heart warmed as he sat back and observed.

“What’s it gonna hurt?” Rick urged his wife with a lopsided grin, leaning over the table to get a good look at her, “Come on.”

An easy hush fell over the table as everyone stopped what they were doing to watch Lori’s face as she made of show of contemplating her husband’s request. With a shrug and a smile, she relented and the noise picked up again, a beautiful mixture of laughter and pleasant banter as the revelers sat back and observed Carl’s reaction.

A smattering of giggles cascaded around the room, Sophia’s loud whisper cutting through the clamour as she asked her mom if she could try some too. Carl grinned hesitantly at Dale as he poured him a small glass, casting his mother and father one last questioning look before picking it up and taking a swig. Everyone held their breath, leaning forward subconsciously and waiting for his reaction.

“Eww!” Carl cried with a grimace, setting the glass back on the table and pushing it away from him. His captivated audience erupted in a chorus of laughter and he beamed proudly, not quite sure what he did but happy to have elicited such a gleeful reaction. Lori reached over with a smile and dumped the rest of his wine into her glass, giving him a proud pat on the back. “That tastes nasty!” Carl exclaimed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud.” Shane said quietly across the din, smiling at him gently until Lori cut him a sharp glance and he went back to his own cup.

Daryl leapt up from his chair before Castiel could lose himself in deciphering their interaction, pouring a drink and passing it along to Glenn, who was already pretty tipsy from the looks of it. “Not you, Glenn.” Daryl declared, eyes glinting cheerfully and he slid the glass over, “Keep drinking, little man. I want to see how red your face can get.” His nose crinkled as he grinned, and Castiel squashed that horrible feeling of longing right back down into the pit of his stomach before it had a chance to crawl out.

“Hey Cas,” Lori leaned over to him, scooting her chair closer and refilling his empty glass, “you don’t mess around do you? Or are we trying to see how red your face gets too?”

Chuckling and grateful for the distraction, he lifted his glass to his lips and took a larger gulp than he was expecting to, inelegantly sputtering around it. Lori threw her head back and laughed, holding her hand to her mouth as he hastily scrubbed his chin, “Apparently it takes a lot less than I thought it would.” He elbowed her playfully and she moved with him, holding up her hands in mock surrender.

With a contented sigh, she slumped back in her chair, reaching out and absently running her fingers through her son’s unruly hair, trying to get it to lay flat as Carl squirmed away from her. “We really need this,” she murmured, looking around the room thoughtfully, “I don’t know what we would have done had Jenner not opened the door for us. After so much bad, we needed a little good.”

Castiel sipped his wine carefully this time, following her gaze and taking in all of the smiling, relaxed faces of their friends. “We certainly did.” He said softly, though he noticed three people who didn’t seem too happy at all. Andrea was sitting next to Dale, a glass of wine in hand and a smile on her face, but it was all just a show. She couldn’t manage to hide the grief and hopelessness that hung over her like a dark cloud. Shane looked miserable too, staring back and forth between Lori, Rick and Jenner, his fingers clenched tightly around the neck of a bottle he seemed to have claimed all to himself. And Jenner…

Jenner just looked defeated.

Cas knew the reason, just as he knew why Jenner was the only doctor left in this facility, and why he hadn’t offered them anything besides food and shelter. When Chuck first told him of these facilities, scattered around the globe and working tirelessly for a cure, he had been very newly human. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of eating and drinking yet, and every new feeling felt like it was going to crack his skull open. Hearing about these human beings who were risking their lives just in the vain hope of finding a cure to a disease he knew without a fraction of a doubt was incurable broke his heart, and he remembered being so _angry_ with himself, with Dean. He remembered lashing out, throwing the glass that sat by him on the table against the wall and attempting to storm out of the war room. Dean had caught him on the way out, furious and confused, demanding to know what his problem was, but he didn’t have an answer for him at the time.

Seeing it in the flesh now, Castiel understood why it had made him so angry to hear about these centers. It was the futility of it. There was no cure to the Croatoan virus: it was a demonic disease that ravaged through populations that was now warped by Pestilence, and spread out across the globe. There was no fixing it, or saving those who turned. Their souls would suffer forever in the decaying host of their corpse, watching themselves as they tear apart and feast on the living. And if by some small grace they happen to die for a second time, their soul is then trapped in the Veil, or sent to the pit, depending on where they were destined to go. Since all of the angels (including the reapers) were closed up in Heaven, the Veil would be their only reprieve, and only if they were lucky. There was no point in trying, no end goal in sight, and yet these people didn’t know that. They thought they were humanities last hope against a sudden and deadly disease… they didn’t understand that it was just the symptom of a greater catastrophe, a boil on the face of the Apocalypse at large.

“So when are you gonna tell us what the Hell happened here, Doc?” Shane piped in, and all conversation and pleasant toasts died in an instant, “All the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened. Where are they?”

“We’re celebrating, Shane.” Rick pleaded, his jaw set and head shaking, “We don’t need to do this now.”

“Whoa, wait a second. This is why we’re here, right?” Shane chuckled, but it was forced and derisive, “This was your move, and we were supposed to find all the answers. Instead we found him. Found one man, why?”

Jenner inhaled deeply, glancing around the room and looking pointedly at the children, but Shane just waved at him to continue. “Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left.” He spoke tightly, the subject obviously a hard one to broach but he did so with admirable composure, “And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted.”

Shane spun the bottle in his hands before taking another swig, his eyes glazing just a little. “Every last one?” He asked, slamming the bottle back down on the table with more force than he meant to, and Carol jumped at the impact.

“No, many couldn’t face walking out the door.” Jenner replied curtly, his brows knotting together as he glared at Shane. Cas watched his fingers clench tightly atop the table, before he stretched them out and flattened his palm, “They… opted out. There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Castiel asked, meeting Jenner’s gaze across the table.

“I just kept working, hoping to do some good.”

“Dude, you are such a buzz kill, man.” Glenn huffed in frustration, and the rest of their meal was eaten in heady silence, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery, the humming of a flickering light in the corner and glasses being lifted and dropped to the table.

They were shown around by Jenner after the meal, were told which areas of the facilities they could use and which they couldn’t, before being left to their own devices. While others took to the showers or the rec room, Castiel wandered the halls of the facility, revelling in the safety and solitude combined. Two things he had never experienced side by side since the Apocalypse began.

He found a few areas that were long abandoned, and labs that hadn’t been touched in months that were pitch black, but with the assistance of his flashlight he managed to navigate them just fine. Many rooms he found had been set up as makeshift dormitories, and he amused himself by picking through the scattered belongings he found there, flashlight clutched under his arm. There were photos and laptops, cameras and portable music devices. He found a carton of Marlboros and muttered a cheerful “awesome” under his breath, only to laugh incredulously a moment later when he found an unopened bottle of Lagavulin in the same footlocker. “It’s my lucky day,” he said quietly, closing the trunk carefully and placing a tender hand on top, “Thank you for this, wherever you are.”

The lights in the otherwise pitch black room burst to life, only for a fraction of a second but it was enough to nearly shock Castiel out of his skin. As soon as he was plunged back into darkness the old tube radio in the corner of the room crackled and buzzed, the knobs spinning as if manipulated by an invisible hand. His heart fluttering wildly in his chest with surprise, Castiel inched forwards, squinting through the dark and straining to hear what was coming through the transmission.

It seemed to be a lot of muffled grunts and groans, hard to pick out underneath the static, but he could also catch a faint (very faint) voice, muttering something unintelligible. Castiel stood still, his head tilted and ear only inches from the speaker as he held his breath in an attempt to completely minimize any other noise, desperate to hear what was being said.

“It’s so dark... scared...”

Castiel jerked back with a gasp before steeling himself and leaning back in, struggling to hear more.

“Dark... Help me...” It seemed to be coming through clearer now, and Cas frowned deeply, his ear nearly touching the radio now as his hands clutched at the shelf it sat on, “So many here… stuck, I can’t get out…”

“Why won’t they leave me alone?”

The radio exploded into a shower of sparks, and Castiel jerked backwards with a startled yelp as it twanged and popped. He fell bodily onto the cot behind him, and he watched in bewilderment as the transmission cut out with a dull whine and a click, the radio still sizzling on the shelf, and a thin shaft of foul smelling smoke rising up from the top.

The voice had been so loud and strong at the end, and with his blood pumping furiously Castiel stood and immediately left the room. “Spirits in the Veil,” he muttered to himself, the carton of smokes and scotch clutched to his chest as he moved swiftly down the hall, “It was definitely a spirit in the Veil, but why are there so many, and in here, I—”

 _Oh_ , he thought, stopping abruptly.

“Oh, oh no.” Castiel turned on his heel and darted back to the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He did a quick sweep of the room before sitting on one of the cots and looking up at the ceiling helplessly. He could hear the steady hum of electricity in the air, and when he focused he could almost feel them as they flitted past, pushing through the border ethereal and trying desperately to touch him. He was probably the first person to notice them since they died, and he struggled to choke out the words to reach them, “All of you, poor souls. Everyone who took their life in this place, you’re all stuck here, aren’t you?”

He raised his hands feebly, palms out and open. “If anyone is trying to reach me, please, take my hand,” he called out to the empty room, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I can help you, I just need to know how many of you there are.”

After a few moments of nothing, Castiel cursed under his breath. He missed his grace in that moment, and he mourned how easy it would have been to unfurl it, just a little, so the spirits trapped in the monotony of the Veil could see where he was and flock to him so he could help them. “Please,” he begged, “I can help you cross over. I can help you be alone, take you out of the dark! I just need you to come to me, follow my voice.”

 _Tap_.

Cas watched with wide eyes as the tip of his right forefinger was nudged backward, barely a centimeter but he felt it clear as anything.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He gasped as three more of his fingers were pressed, and something smacked gently against his palm in the pantomime of a high five. And it just kept going. He felt incorporeal fingers graze his arms, his wrist, nails along the back of his hands. He tried to keep a tally but there were too many to count. They just kept grasping, pulling and tugging, and he could suddenly feel them inside of himself, their longing and their pain. They had been in the Veil for _months_ , confused with no direction, no help and no hope of reprieve. Cursing his brothers and sisters for their selfishness, Castiel forced himself to stand and reluctantly pull away from the unearthly hands.

“I’ll be back tonight, I promise you.” He said surely, opening the door with one hand, the other still held out in front of him, his fingers still grasped and tugged by a few desperate stragglers, “I’m going to do a spell, and I will help you get through, I swear it!” With a sharp breath he yanked his hand back hard, breaking free of the last of the spirits and flying out the door.

“Holy shit.” He said to himself, collecting his booze and smokes before walking back to the common room. He had never seen that many spirits trapped in the Veil before, and never in one place like that. With the reapers gone, there was no one to help these spirits when they died, to show them the path to Heaven and their eternal rest. They were crowding against each other, afraid of the darkness but frustrated by their constant presence, and they were advancing so quickly into insanity Castiel knew if he had come any later, there would certainly be poltergeist activity in this bunker. Thankfully he had arrived when he did, and he knew he had seen a spell in John Winchester’s journal that could help them find their way to the gates of heaven, sort of like a spiritual highway.

He needed his journal, and he needed ingredients… which led to some complications. He had thought to bring his journal with him, he never left it behind, ever. But the ingredients were in his car, in the weapons cache, and Jenner had made very clear there was to be no going outside. There are those labs though, he thought to himself, and a kitchen. He resolved to take a look once everyone was asleep. If he could find the proper ingredients, or substitutions that might work, he could go through with the ritual that night. If not, he would have to run out to the Impala the next morning and hope no one would give him a hard time about it.

Deep in thought, Castiel stalked through the halls with his ill-gotten goods cradled to his chest and his mind somewhere else, when he was startled back to reality by a door slamming right next to him, and the sound of voices humming through it.

More of them!? He thought in disbelief, stepping towards to the newly closed door and pressing his ear against it gingerly.

No, it was voices he recognized.

Lori and Shane.

“Things were falling apart.” That was Shane’s voice, slurred and distant, “They were slaughtering people in the hallways. It was a massacre, Lori there were walkers everywhere.”

“So you left him.” Lori countered, her voice wavering in a way that made Castiel hesitant to walk away, despite the ugly feeling in his gut he always got whenever he eavesdropped.

“Everybody else ran. There were no doctors there. It was just me. He was hooked up to machines and I did not know what to do. I even took my ear and I put it on his chest and I listened for a heartbeat and I did not hear one.” Shane was speaking in stilted sentences, and breathing so heavily Cas could hear him through the door, “And I don’t know why. Maybe it was gunfire. I don’t know what it was, but there was no way he could’ve survived that.” Castiel jumped as the door shuddered violently, Shane’s fist connecting solidly and rattling it on its hinges, “No way.”

Their voices moved further away, and Cas thrummed with a sudden panic. Lori was in danger, he could feel it in his bones as he grasped the door handle and twisted, only to find it locked.

“Okay. No, no.”

“Fuck!” Cas cursed as he heard Lori through the door, her voice getting louder and more flustered by the second. He rattled the door handle violently, but it wouldn’t budge.

“No, no! Lor, you— I love you. And you love me, I know it. Please.”

With a growl of frustration Castiel dropped his things to the ground and pulled his hunting knife from its ever present holster on his thigh, sliding it through the crack in the door. He could hear Lori’s cries getting more insistent behind the door and he cursed once more as truly started to fear what Shane might be trying to do to her. With a smack to the handle and a firm push to the side, the door swung open soundlessly, just in time for him to see Lori scratch Shane across the face and send him reeling backwards.

“Get the fuck away from her!” Cas yelled, accidentally kicking his belongings across the room in his haste to get between them. He reached out with both palms and shoved Shane off to the side, before blocking Lori with his body. “What the hell has gotten into you?” He demanded, studying Shane intensely. He was clearly intoxicated, and he swayed uselessly on his feet while he tried to reassess the situation.

Blood trickled in small rivulets down his neck as he glared right back at Castiel, “This is none of your business.” Shane said, tilting his chin up and clicking his tongue dismissively, “I wasn’t doing nothing man, we were just having a discussion.”

“Discussion my ass!” Stepping forward, Castiel stood chest to chest with him, grimacing at the smell of whiskey that clung to him like bad cologne, “Shane, you’re drunk. You need to leave, now.”

Cas could hear Lori breathing irregularly behind him, and he didn’t have to turn to know she was sobbing. Shane stood his ground, staring him down with cool determination, and at their negligible distance Cas could see how detached and unfocused his eyes were. He was so drunk he probably didn’t even notice the large scratches and welts that were dug into the side of his neck and jaw. “I need to talk to Lori. I’m not going anywhere till I talk to Lori.” Shane grumbled, his head lolling to the side and he tried to look at her over Castiel’s shoulder, but he stepped in his way every time he moved.

“No, you’re done. You can talk in the morning if you decide to be civil but for tonight, you’re done. Go to bed.” Placing his hands on Shane’s shoulders, Cas tried to turn him and lead him out the door, but Shane swerved to the right, suddenly very sure of his movements and sidestepped out of his hold.

With a panicked gasp, Lori lifted herself up onto the table she was leaning against as Shane lurched towards her, throwing her feet out in her defense and ready to kick him if need be, but Cas reeled around and grabbed him by his arm before he could make it to her. Pulling forcefully, he shoved Shane towards the door and sent him stumbling. “Stop, Shane! Leave!” He hissed through clenched teeth, dropping into a fighting stance as he saw Shane raise his fist menacingly.

Shane seemed to consider hitting him. He seemed to consider doing a lot worse, if the look of unadulterated fury and the curl of his upper lip was any indication, and Castiel schooled his breathing in preparation for it. Shane had more mass on him, more muscle but Cas was taller by at least two inches, and was definitely faster… he didn’t doubt he could take him in a fight if it came to that. But he could hear Lori sniffling behind him, begging softly for him to just get him to leave, and Cas hoped it wouldn’t come to blows for her sake.

Shane seemed to think better of it, thank goodness. With one last sneer, he stalked towards the door, punching the wall and slamming it on the way out.

The instant the door was closed Lori burst into hysterical tears, slipping off of the table and onto the floor with her head in her hands. Her eyes were wide with panic, she didn’t seem to hear him when he tried to talk to her and he didn’t dare touch her at that time. He knew better than that, at least.

Cas heaved a sigh and sunk to the ground next to her, pulling his bottle of scotch over with his foot from where he’d dropped it on the floor. It was still intact (small miracles and all that), and he wasted no time uncorking it, taking a large swig and shuddering as it burned down his throat. He hadn’t had scotch in some time, he mused, and he’d forgotten how much he liked it. The last time had been on Halloween, one year after Sam said yes. Dean had found a bottle of “the good stuff” as he called it, and happened to be in a particularly uncommonly jovial mood that night. He had spent hours in Castiel’s cabin as they tossed the bottle back and forth, trading stories from before the Apocalypse, from when they first met. Stories about Cas’ life as an angel, Dean’s as Sam’s guardian. It was a rare good memory, one that he held to in that moment, as he twirled the bottle in his hands and agonized over how to help his friend.

They sat beside each other in silence for a long while. Having no way to track the time, Cas couldn’t say how long it was, but just when his back began to ache and he had to stretch his legs out in front of him, Lori leaned over and rested her head upon his shoulder. It was a start, he thought to himself, and he uncorked the bottle to take another gulp, this time passing it to her when he was done.

She took it gingerly, gave it a wary sniff, and then downed three large gulps before she broke away, coughing and grimacing. “Careful, Lori.” Cas cautioned with mock severity, “This has to last all night.”

Lori looked at him disbelievingly as she thrust the bottle back, chuckling under her breath. She had stopped crying not too long ago, the evidence still there in her swollen red cheeks and puffy nose, and she scrubbed the sleeve of her sleepshirt at her eyes with more force than was necessary. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” she muttered, “My dad used to drink it every night when he got home from work. He’d come in, take off his coat and shoes, pour himself a scotch neat and sit on the couch till it was time for dinner.” She smiled softly and played with the hem of her shirt as she spoke, “One year for… Thanksgiving I believe it was, he let me try a sip at dinner. I was just around Carl’s age, and I think I had the exact same reaction then as I did just now.”

Cas smiled widely, taking a small sip from the bottle and shaking his head at her story. “I guess I just got used to drinking the worst swill you could find,” he admitted, “When things got really bad back in Sioux Falls, I kind of took to raiding liquor stores. And if you were lucky enough to find anything at all, you never held out hope for the good stuff. I really got the hang of drinking whatever I could find that would give me a buzz.”

“Were you a big drinker, before… everything?”

“Not in the least bit.” With a sullen laugh, Castiel fished in his pockets for his pack of smokes, “The first and time I drank was with Ellen and Jo the night before they um, passed away.” She gave him a small, withering look of pity that he instantly hated, but he pushed down and carried on, “No, I started drinking after the turn. To manage, I guess you could say, but as far as unhealthy coping mechanisms go, it definitely wasn’t my first choice. I hate the hangovers.”

“What would be your first choice then?”

“This is one of them,” He held up a thin, bent joint he pulled out of his squashed cigarette pack with a cheeky grin, and with his other hand he held up his lighter, “and it’s my last one.”

She barked out a sharp laugh and tipped her head backwards, dragging her hands down her face before turning to face him completely. “You know my husband’s a cop right?” She asked jokingly.

“What’s he going to do, arrest me?”

She couldn’t argue with that it seemed.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later found them still on the floor, only now they were sprawled out, having dragged whole cushions off of the couches and blankets out of the cupboards in the back. Castiel took a haul off of the slow burning roach clutched between his fingers, hissing as he exhaled and passing what little was left to Lori. They were lying next to one another, Cas on his back with his head atop a large, white cushion and Lori curled on her side, spooning another one like it was a body pillow. She took it without hesitation, but frowned when it got too close to burning her fingers, and stubbed it out in the ashtray next to Castiel’s head.

“You should really quit smoking you know,” she said with conviction, “that shit will kill you.”

“I think death by smoking is the least of my worries these days.” Castiel replied with a laugh, turning his head to the side so he could watch as she snuggled deeper into the pillow, “Besides, what else is there to do to pass the time now but drink, smoke and fuck?”

“I can’t believe I let you near my child.” With a grin Lori reached out a hand, clenching and unclenching her fist at the bottle of scotch, urging Cas to hand it over. She seems to have gotten over her aversion pretty quickly, but at least she’s smiling, he mused as she held up a finger and took a large swig before continuing, “You’re obscene, _and_ a bad influence apparently.”

Castiel giggled despite himself, throwing his head back against the cushion and smiling towards the ceiling. “Hey, I just made the offer,” he said with a brazen shrug, “you’re the one who took me up on it.”

“Very true.” Lori hummed, rolling the corked bottled back and forth along the floor. She watched it with heavy lidded eyes, her long brown hair falling in thick sheets across her face and obscuring her vision to the point where Cas would be amazed if she could see anything at all, “What’s going on with you and Daryl?”

“Well that came out of nowhere.”

“Not particularly,” she argued, “You two haven’t even spoken since the attack on the camp, and you’ve been keeping an unusual amount of distance between you.” She reached out a hand and rest the tips of her fingers gently on the crook of his elbow, drawing his attention back to her and his solemn stare from the ceiling, “Are you okay?”

Cas opened his mouth to speak, to tell her he was fine and that she didn’t have to worry about anything, but nothing came out. Instead he felt that familiar clenching of his throat, his eyes began to sting, and as he clenched his jaw he resigned himself to a sullen shake of his head. “That doesn’t matter, though.” He asserted with a croaking voice, sitting up from the ground suddenly, needing to take a moment and wait for his head to stop spinning as he situated himself, cross-legged and leaning backwards on his palms, “What the hell happened with Shane? What’s _been_ happening? The two of you have been so strange around each other since the first night I came to camp and I thought you were just sleeping together, but after tonight… Lori, has he done that before?”

“No!” It was her turn to be taken aback, gaping at him from her position on the floor before she joined him in the land of the vertical, sitting and hauling the cushion into her lap, wrapping both arms around it and holding it to her chest, “I don’t—Cas I haven’t told anybody this, though I’m sure they know, we weren’t really all that discrete… but Carl and Rick, they can’t find out. If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t breathe a word to anyone, okay?”

“Of course,” he breathed, nodding as he rolled the bottle of scotch over to him in preparation, “and Lor, you tell me yours? I’ll tell you mine.”

“Okay,” she deeply, closing her eyes for a moment as she readied herself for what seemed to be a hard story to tell, “So, Shane was Rick’s best friend since high school right?”

Cas nodded.

“He’s been around our whole married life, all of Carl’s life, he was Rick’s partner at work, hell he used to have Christmas dinners with us. He was family, always has been.” Running a hand through her hair, she pulled it back and off of her face, staring intently at the scant inches of carpet between them, “And when Rick got shot, and the world fell apart around me he took care of us. He got us to Atlanta and helped us survive. If it weren’t for him, me and my baby? We would have died.”

No, that’s not true, Cas thought to himself, chewing on his lower lip to keep from saying so. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for, but now was not the time for her to hear it. He stayed silent and let her press onward.

“He told me Rick was dead.” Lori sighed, “He told me he went to the hospital and he found my husband already dead. And without him I was lost, I was so lonely, and Shane was so familiar and comforting. I guess in some way I also felt indebted to him. I think I was beginning to love him like _that_ , you know? And so we… as you said, started sleeping together.” At his nod, she carried on, “And it was good, we were good. Sure he still had his temper, but he was kind with Carl and he was already family to us. I had lost my husband, my family and friends, my whole life and I needed that comfort and stability. It was something tangible between us that I could control and hold onto.”

“But then Rick came back. He came back alive, and he found us! So I had to cut things off with Shane, I had no choice! He’s my husband, the father of my child and he came back from the _dead_!” Lori choked on a sob, covering her face with her hands and speaking into her palms, “Shane though, he wouldn’t let it go. I told him it was over, and I told him we couldn’t speak of it again. And yes, I was harsh and of course he was hurt, but how could he not understand? He told me Rick had died, when in reality he just left him behind! And even through it all, for all his anger and hurt, his bluster I never thought—” Her voice cracked and she laughed bitterly, “I never thought he would do what he tried to do tonight. So no, he has never tried anything like that before tonight. And I can’t believe he had that in him, that he would try to… Cas, if you hadn’t come when you did—”

Castiel slid forward and closed the distance between them, tugging the stupid cushion out of the way and pulling her to his chest. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing, and he had never really been in a position to comfort anyone but Daryl before. He had been on the receiving end many times however, so he at least knew the basics. As she clung to him, crying with her fingers knotting in the fabric of his brown Henley, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rest his chin atop her head as Daryl had done to him just a few nights prior. He flattened her hair and stroked her back reassuringly as she whispered hasty apologies to no one in particular, the same way Risa had one awful night, a long time ago. He even added a few additions of his own, pushing her back up into a seated position when he felt her big, wracking sobs turn into pitiful sniffles and handing her the bottle of scotch.

“If I hadn’t come when I did, you would have been fine.” Cas said with complete sincerity, “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and you managed to get him to back off even before I got that door open. I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” He held the bottle out in the space between them, ducking his head so he could look her in the eye, “Ineffective coping mechanism?”

Lori took it gratefully, putting it to her mouth and throwing it back.  “Well, that was embarrassing,” she said sheepishly, giving him a small smile and handing the bottle back, “I don’t think I’ve cried in front of someone like that since Carl was born.”

“If it helps, I seem to have been doing that once a week for the past two years.” Castiel had meant that to come off as a joke, but he appeared to have missed the mark when Lori’s smile began to war with her sad, pitying eyes. “It’s really not as bad as it sounds.” He backpedalled, but she was having none of it.

“I held up my end, I told you about Shane and I.” Lori said earnestly, her smile slipping as she reached out and grabbed both of his hands, lacing her fingers through his, “So now, you have to tell me what the hell happened between you and Daryl. Because I’m starting to see a side of you tonight that I haven’t before, and honey I have to tell you, it’s kind of worrying me.”

“Lori, I’m—”

“Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine.”

He ducked his head and winced at her sharp admonishment, his fingers curling into her grip. “I know.” He conceded, “You’re right, I’m not fine. I’m completely out of my depth and I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, talk to me! Please, I’m right here.” Throwing her hands out to the sides, she pointed sharply to herself and raised a brow, “I’m offering to listen. I’ve also been married since I was 18, so I’ve been playing this relationship game a long time. I’m probably the best resource you’re going to get one this, utilize me!”

“I-I don’t…” He didn’t know where to start. Did he start with Daryl, or did he go further back? With Dean? How could he tell her any of it, without telling her about the supernatural? He was certain she wouldn’t take that as well as Daryl had, her mind firmly rooted in the reality of what she could see and touch. She would think he was crazy. So, he would have to start with Daryl Dixon then.

“When the two of us, Daryl and I, when we first started sleeping with each other it was on the road. And while we were out of the camp, on our own it was…” Cas smiled fondly, freeing a hand and grabbing a smoke from his pilfered carton without thinking, apologising hastily after Lori made a face at him, “It was wonderful. I had never been with someone who was so kind to me. He just makes me feel so…” He tipped his head back and groaned in frustration, rubbing at the back of his neck as he contemplated the correct verbiage, “safe. Cared for and secure, and I’d never had that before. He’s also so surprisingly fond of these grand gestures and I don’t even think he realizes how amazing they are I mean, do you remember how injured I was when we got back from that run?”

Lori nodded.

“I was mauled within an inch of my life and dragged down the side of a mountain.” He said, extrapolating as much as he could and not sugar coating the details like he had before. Her face twisted at the gory details and the grip on his hand tightened, “He was so far behind me, I thought I was going to die. By all rights I should have died, and I didn’t hold on to hope that he would ever catch up. But he did. He tracked me through miles of forest, down a cliff and to some remote cave, and he saved my life. Not just by killing the bear, but afterwards too.”

“I couldn’t walk, I had a concussion and we were so far from all of our supplies.” Castiel lit his smoke after raising a questing eyebrow at Lori. She hated cigarettes with a passion, and usually gave him a hard time but it appeared she was feeling generous that night, nodding with a dour expression when he asked if she wouldn’t mind. “I passed out pretty soon after he saved me. And when I woke up, I was back in our camp, in this old, long abandoned chapel. He wouldn’t answer me at first, but later on he told me how he got us back there. He carried me to a gondola, took me up to the top of the mountain and carried me down, by himself in that sweltering heat. In a forest full of dead ones. And when he got me back to camp he stitched and dressed my wounds, even though he didn’t know how.”

“No one has ever gone so far for me. Never in my life, and he was still a stranger then. And since, he’s been just amazing, the most wonderful and strange person I have ever met!” Lori stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, a sweet smile curving her lips as he spoke, and he felt emboldened by it, “I really like him. I mean, obviously I do. He’s intelligent, and funny and kind of a smart ass, which seems to be my type. But he’s also very sweet, and he cares more than he lets on, which I think a lot of people miss about him.” He chuckled miserably, “I’m in love with him.”

“And he doesn’t feel the same?” Lori probed cautiously.

“No, he does.” Castiel took a long drag of his cigarette, his vision swimming dramatically as he exhaled, forcing him to close his eyes tightly and pinch the bridge of his nose. I shouldn’t have drank so much, he mused. He was decidedly more messed up than he thought.

“Then what’s the problem?” Bewildered, she tilted her head inquisitively, “Is it because of what Andrea said? Because no one blames you or Daryl, that wouldn’t make any sense, they’d be more likely to blame Rick and the others for leaving in the first place!”

“He’s not comfortable with people knowing he’s gay.” He stared down at their joined hand, and he watched as her thumb swept back and forth across his knuckles, mesmerizingly, “Not comfortable doesn’t do it justice, not really. He’s petrified, and he won’t tell me why. He just keeps making up excuses that he’s worried for me, he doesn’t want me to get hurt, that he’s dealt with homophobic people before but I know it’s not the whole truth. To be honest, I think he’s most afraid of being judged. He’s fine when we’re alone. He’s better than fine, he’s perfect, but the second we’re in front of others it’s like he’s ashamed of himself, and I don’t even think he knows why. All I know is that he’s not telling me everything, and I’m sick of being lashed out at every time he feels uncomfortable.”

“So, that’s why the two of you were trying to be so secretive.” Lori murmured, “And what Andrea did, that was probably the worst possible thing that could have happened.”

“She did apologise, thanks for that, by the way.” Castiel said, “But it was, absolutely. When we first got back to the camp, after getting the Impala, I made him promise me he understood that when I agreed to sneak around, it wasn’t a permanent thing. It was too much for me to handle long term, and I couldn’t let myself get sucked into a relationship like that again, like I was something shameful that needed to be hidden. Besides which, he might be embarrassed about his sexuality but I’m not! I don’t feel like I need to hide, and I don’t want to either.”

“I’m not ashamed of him, or of us. I love him, and I’ve never been in love like this before. I thought I was in love with Dean, but it wasn’t good. We ground each other down with it, it was caustic and all we did was hurt each other. I have never felt worse about myself, never doubted myself more than when we were together.” He shrugged, butting out his smoke in the tray next to him, “With Dean… whenever he came to me I gave in. I couldn’t say no to him. But every time, when he left and went back to treating me like garbage, when he started sleeping around with every woman who would have him, or even worse when he would just ignore me altogether, I hated myself. I hated that I let him do that to me, just because I was conflating the person he was with the one he turned into.”

“So I ended up acting really spiteful. I tried to ignore that I was also to blame, I don’t think I could have handled it at the time. I wasn’t a nice person, and I knew at the time that how I was acting was childish and wrong, but I was too fucked up to care. All I wanted to do was to make him jealous, to fuck with him the same way he did with me, so he would know how much he was hurting me.” Cas tore his hand from hers, dragging them down his face with a far off look, getting lost in the same memories that kept him awake at night, “I think, in the back of my mind I was trying to make him stay… but I just pushed him away more, until I would finally give up. I would stop trying, I would isolate myself in my cabin and not speak to people for days. And then, only then, would he come back to me. And we’d start the whole thing over again.”

“It was the first time I’d ever been in love, you know?” Castiel scratched his head, taking in the somber and compassionate expression on Lori’s face, and for the first time since he fell he didn’t feel the need to hide from it. He didn’t resent it. He actually kind of welcomed it. “I didn’t know how unhealthy it was, I just kept on doing everything that he asked of me, standing by his side during the day, then fucking and drinking my way through half the camp at night until he decided he needed me again. It wasn’t until he was willing to sacrifice every living being in that camp for his own vendetta that I realized… he wasn’t the person I remembered. He was someone different. And then it was like the blinders came off and I could see what I had become as well. I was nauseated, I made myself sick.”

“With Daryl, though?” He smiled calmly as he spoke, playing with the cuff of his jeans, his voice soft and full of longing, “I never felt like who I was wasn’t good enough, like I had to be someone else to make him stay, or even care. He makes me feel whole, and I didn’t know it could be like that. So it kills me that even though I would give anything to go to him right now, to be with him again? It kills me that I can’t.”

“You’re afraid that by pretending the two of you aren’t together, you’re letting him do the same thing that Dean did to you.” She finished for him, making a small frustrated noise under her breath before grabbing the bottle of scotch and handing it to him. He took it dutifully and sipped at it, his head already roiling with the multitude of substances he had previously ingested.

“That’s not all though.” Castiel turned the bottle in his hands, his voice barely above a whisper, not able to look at her as he confessed what worried him more than anything else, “I did make a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be taken advantage of again. But I know Daryl isn’t going to do that. He actually tries, he learns from his mistakes and he genuinely doesn’t want to hurt me. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt _him_ , the same way I hurt Dean. I’m afraid that the longer this goes on, the longer I have to stay with him in secret, not able to look at him or touch him if we aren’t alone I will start to resent him. That I’ll grow bitter again. I saw the worst of myself come to the surface, Lor, and I don’t ever want to do that to Daryl. I don’t…” he shook his head, voice breaking, “I don’t trust myself not to.”

With a sudden, desperate noise Lori lurched forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into an embrace. Her head on his shoulder, he could feel her lips brushing his ear as she spoke hurried and firm, “Castiel, you need to _talk_ to him.”

“I have, I—”

“No, I mean really talk to him.” She pulled back, hands on his shoulders and he grappled at her wrists in an attempt to hold himself up, “You’ve both been skirting the issue, but you’re not getting to the bottom of it, and it’s going to blow up in your faces. Rick and I used to get into these huge arguments, and he would just ignore them, thinking they would go away and they never would. We would fight, and I would be so horrible to him, the things I would say,” she widened her eyes and blew out a big breath, “were so hurtful, so nasty. And I never meant to be so mean, I love him to death but I was just at my wits end. If we had just talked to each other, and told each other the truth of what we were feeling? I’m certain we never would have had a fight like that again.”

“You need to tell him all about Dean, and he needs to tell you his stuff too, otherwise you’ll never resolve this.” She shook him gently, looking into his eyes with utter sincerity, “I don’t want that for you. Both of you are miserable apart: he’s sulking and snapping at everyone in sight, you’re drinking yourself into an early grave and just drawing it out is going to hurt worse than anything. You need to rip that bandage off, and if you can’t come to a consensus after at least you can make a clean break. And if you can make it work?” She smiled that girlish, infectious smile he couldn’t help but reciprocate, “Baby, you hold on tight and you don’t let go for anything. You found something real at the end of the world, you don’t just give that up without a fight.”

“Lori, I’m so sorry for bothering you with this… pettiness, after all that you’ve been through tonight but I am so grateful for your help. I guess I just didn’t know,” Cas sat back, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes, “I didn’t know how cathartic it could be to just say this stuff out loud.”

“Don’t even start,” Lori said with a point of her finger, flopping back to the floor and curling around her cushion once more, “it was my pleasure. And I don’t want to talk about that now anyways, so you actually gave me a great distraction. You’re not alone here, you know?”

“I know.”

“And if you ever need to talk, you can talk to me. After all that you’ve done for us Cas, you deserve someone to turn to.”

“You too, Lor.” Castiel huffed as she shook her head, lying down next to her with his head on his own cushion, “Whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened tonight, I’ll be here. I know it can’t be easy, but believe me when I say that I do understand.”

She didn’t ask what he meant, and he was thankful for it. He had enough baring his soul for one night, he didn’t think he was ready to unearth that can of worms just yet. But he was glad to see her smiling, and when they parted ways, he felt like he had done something right and something so very human.

Energized and feeling lighter than he had in days, Castiel jumped into the job once more. He had a bunker full of people, and a powder keg of confused spirits ready to pop the lid off of the border ethereal and really start haunting if he didn’t act fast. He tore through the halls, passing only a tired Dale, whom he had to stop to reassure that everything was fine, that he was just an energetic drunk.

He was lucky, it seemed that everyone was in bed or heading to it. He would have the run of the bunker, and should be able to pilfer all of the ingredients he would need with little to no complications.  He was almost giddy with excitement, the demands of the hunt spurring him onward and providing a welcome distraction. It probably also helped that he was the tiniest bit high and extraordinarily drunk, he mused as he gleefully navigated the swerving and pulsating corridors.

Throwing open the door to the dining hall, the last place he remembered leaving his bag, that giddy excitement drained out of him in a flood of overwhelming frustration.

Why was Daryl there?

Why was he reading from John’s journal?

Why had he gone through his _stuff_?

The door slammed up against the wall, causing both Cas and Daryl to almost leap up out of their skin. He had opened it with more force than necessary, he realized through his drunken haze, and he turned sharply to glare at it before whipping back to Daryl. He was prepared to rip him a new one: how dare he go through his bag like he had any right to any of Castiel’s things? Even when they were together, he never touched his belongings without Cas’ permission, and rightly so. He was entitled to his privacy, and seeing Daryl slumped over his torn apart bag now sent his blood boiling.

The look on Daryl’s face though gave him pause.

There were dark, worrisome circles under his normally sharp, blue eyes and his forehead was drawn and creased with unease. His thumb was set between his teeth and Castiel watched the terse movement of his jaw as he gnawed on his nail, a nervous tick he only ever exhibited when he was stressed, uncomfortable or afraid. He had been in the middle of flipping through John’s journal, the fingers of his free hand paused on the page, keeping track of what line he had been on before Castiel had so rudely interrupted him. All in all, he looked scared… and that was the complete opposite of how Cas had left him at dinner, smiling and jovial as he embarked on his mission of the night, to get Glenn wasted.

“What’s wrong?” Cas demanded, an unwelcome but familiar feeling of protectiveness surging through him as he jumped into action and strode purposefully across the room. He misjudged the distance between him and the table though, which kind of ruined the illusion that he knew what he was doing when he hit the edge of it with his hip, sliding all of the objects on the table slightly to the left and sending himself stumbling back a few feet.

Daryl reached out a steadying hand and grasped his wrist, helping him regain his footing and quirking his brow. “You drunk?” He asked, concerned.

“No.” Castiel said stubbornly, but the sour expression on Daryl’s face told him he wasn’t all that convincing. “Yes.” He admitted after a beat, “I found an old bottle of scotch, so Lori and I drank it. We also smoked my last joint.”

“You two split a whole bottle of scotch in one night?” Daryl sounded almost impressed, even though he still had that worried look on his face that Cas was beginning to suspect might be painted on.

“She was having a bad night.” Cas said with a shrug, “And so was I, come to think of it. Are you going to tell me why you were going through my things now?”

Daryl looked taken aback at the sudden confrontation, but quickly shook it off as he ushered Castiel into a chair. As he was maneuvered into a seated position, he realized dimly that this was the first full and not entirely awkward conversation they’d had in days, a thought that made his chest clench uncomfortably.

“I was looking for the journal. I’m sorry, I tried to look but I couldn’t find you, and this couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t have gone through your shit if I had any other choice, but I needed to find this journal.”

“Why?” Cas asked, leaning back in his chair in a way he hoped looked engaging and not like he was struggling to stay off the floor.

Daryl ran a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took in a deep breath. When he looked back up at Castiel, it was in that adorably earnest way that made his heart skip a beat, and Daryl leaned forward on his elbows, both hands gesturing to the book between them. “This is going to sound crazy,” Daryl began, “and I don’t really know what I saw, or how I know what I do, but Cas I’ve believed a lot of irrational shit you’ve told me on face value alone, and I need you to trust me on this, okay?”

Castiel nodded fervently, his vision reeling with the force of it.

Daryl took another deep breath, and Cas was captivated by the bobbing of his throat as he did so. But the next words out of his mouth drew him back to reality, and he could almost feel himself sobering up as soon as they were spoken.

“I think this place is haunted.”

Castiel barked a laugh, tossing his head back as he grinned broadly. “No shit!” He said, giggling and flopping forward onto the table, crossing his arms and resting his chin in the crook of one elbow. He was sprawled across the table, his ass barely in his chair and legs splayed haphazardly, but his smile was infectious it seemed, and grew impossibly wider as Daryl shook his head and chuckled at him.

“So you already knew,” Daryl said, an amused lilt to his voice, “of course I couldn’t get one up on you, you being the expert and all.”

“Yeah, but how did _you_ know?” Cas demanded, unfurling his arms enough to jab a finger into Daryl’s arm for emphasis, “I only found out a few hours ago, and only because I went somewhere I probably shouldn’t have. Besides, I know what to look for. How did you figure it was a haunting?”

There’s that worried look again, he thought to himself as Daryl leaned back in his seat, no longer smiling and Castiel was sad to see it go.

“I was in one of the back rooms,” Daryl spoke softly, as if he were afraid someone would walk in on them and find out they were talking about ghosts like it was a normal topic of conversation, “and Andrea came in and started speaking to me. She was talking for a while, and I wouldn’t look at her, not at first but eventually I had to turn around and…” He closed his eyes, trailing off and Castiel thrummed with worry, sudden and unbidden. He seemed so rattled, and that wasn’t like him at all. “When I turned around it was just Andrea standing there, but her face, Jesus Christ, her _face_ was wrong. It looked like someone had taken a picture of it, but moved the camera while it was shooting, you know? Like someone had taken it and pulled it out of place. But it weren’t a picture, it was her actual face, just blurry and twisted, and out of focus. I mean, I could see her mouth moving as she spoke, but it was all the way over here!” He pointed sharply to his left ear, and sat back with a sigh.

“And that ain’t all. I mean, it only lasted for a few moments, and the room was pretty dark so I just chalked it up to the whiskey, yeah?” Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration absolutely palpable and Castiel had to stop himself from reaching out a hand and laying it comfortingly on his thigh. They couldn’t do that anymore, he had to remind himself, it was his decision and they couldn’t. He could only nod mutely.

“After that, she left and I was alone again. I heard the door close, and I was just reading by my lamp in this dark old room, I think it used to be someone’s bedroom. There was a cot and some boxes, but it looked like it had been used most recently as a store room.” He was shaking, his hands trembling as he laid them down on the table top, and he laced his fingers together in an effort to still them, “I heard the door close, I know I did. But then I got this strange feeling, Cas I don’t even know how to describe it. It was like someone had hooked a car battery up to my spine and I felt this awful jolt. And when I turned, the door was open, and there was a woman standing there.”

“A woman?” Castiel asked, suddenly very intrigued and clearheaded, “What did she look like, can you describe her?”

“It was dark,” Daryl said, spreading his palms, “I didn’t get the best look at first but she was a short lady, like forty or so years old, dressed in like a suit sort of skirt thing, I don’t know. But she had this bruise across her neck that was visible even in the dark. It stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“I called out to her, but she didn’t say nothing. She just stood there for a long time, and I couldn’t move.” He scoffed, shaking his head incredulously, “I honestly couldn’t move. Not until she did. She started walking down the hall, and I had to follow her! There was something here in my chest that was tugging forward, almost painfully when I wasn’t following close enough. And as I walked, I didn’t realize what she was… I thought she was a living person, I mean why wouldn’t I?”

“She led me to another room, opened the door and walked in. I followed her, and it was just a big storage closet, with chairs and toiletries and stuff, with these exposed pipes on the ceiling and a slop sink, but nothin’ else. I walked in pretty far, I wasn’t thinkin’ and then I heard the door slam.” Daryl’s hands hand clenched into fists on the table, his shoulders slumped forward and he wasn’t looking at Cas anymore. He was staring at the table in front of him, but he wasn’t seeing it. His eyes were unfocused as his mind went elsewhere, scouring his memory, “It was pitch black except for my flashlight, and the girl was gone. She shut me in, and when I tried the door it was locked. Well, not locked exactly, more like stuck and I couldn’t get it open. So I let go of the handle, I turned and leaned on the door, and then I saw it.

“Saw what?” Castiel implored, reaching across the table and taking one of Daryl’s trembling hands in his, decision be damned.

Daryl started at the contact, but soon opened his fist, knotting his fingers in Castiel’s and squeezing tight. “I saw that girl, the same one who locked me in. Clear as day, man and she was just hanging there. Hanging from the pipe on the ceiling, from a noose around her neck. That was where the bruise came from, one of them orange extension cords she fashioned into a noose, she fucking hung herself!” He gasped in a deep breath, shutting his eyes tightly and Cas ran the fingers of his other hand reassuringly down his forearm, “That bruise was there when I first saw her, as I followed her down the halls. I could hear the pipes creaking as she sort of swayed back and forth, it was like she had only done it a few seconds ago. And then there was this voice… a woman’s voice, and even though I didn’t move my light to her face I know she was talkin’. Her eyes were _open_ and she was saying—”

Castiel leaned forward, almost standing as he gripped Daryl’s hand tight, “What was she saying? Come on, if we’re going to figure this out I need to know everything.”

With a frustrated growl, Daryl slammed his other fist down on the table, his eyes darting around the room before falling onto Castiel. “It made no damn sense! I didn’t understand what she meant, not any of it. But I could feel what she was feeling, and I know that must sound absolutely insane but I swear it’s true.”

It was Daryl’s turn to grab Cas’ hand, turning his captive wrist and clinging to Castiel’s with both hands, pulling him closer across the table. “I started to cry, Cas.” Daryl whispered, like it was something shameful and embarrassing, “Just like that, I started to cry and I couldn’t understand why I was doing it. I was blubbering like a baby, I was cold all over, so afraid and all of a sudden it was like I couldn’t breathe.”

There’s no way, Castiel thought. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes widening almost comically as Daryl powered through his recollection. “I don’t mean crying so hard I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath, though. I mean I actually couldn’t breathe. There was something choking me, pressing into my throat but when I reached up to fight it off there was nothing there! I thought I was going to die, I was pounding on the door with my fists and I was so close to passing out, when I felt the door open. It opened, and I fell onto my back on the ground, out in the hall and suddenly I could breathe again.”

_There’s no way._

“There was no one there though. I think she opened the door, I really do. I think she wanted someone to feel how she felt, you know, as she was dying and the like? And when I sat up and looked in the closet she was gone. It was just me in the hall.” Daryl released Castiel’s hands and he leaned back, taking in Cas’ dumbfounded expression, “I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it happened, look!”

Castiel gasped as Daryl pulled open the collar of his shirt and leaned into the light, revealing an angry black bruise, purpling around the edges and swollen, just under the curve of his jaw and running all across his throat.

“I figured she was dangerous, you know? I mean, look what she did to me. And I was worried she might do it to someone else, so I came in here and started researching how to kill a ghost… do you kill a ghost?” Daryl asked, turning back to the forgotten journal and sliding it between them.

“N-no, not really, but you can help them move on.” Cas whispered, staring in awe at Daryl, his gaze not moving for an instant, and Daryl slowly began to realize he wasn’t enamoured by his story in the way he was meant to be.

“What is it Cas? What’s wrong?”

“Daryl, have you ever noticed anything odd before?” Castiel asked carefully, leaning back in his seat and tapping his fingers off of the surface of the table, “Like strange noises, shadows? Do you every notice strange smells that shouldn’t be there, or that suddenly appear where they weren’t before? Lights flickering? Or strange voices?”

He didn’t answer, but Castiel watched the colour drain from his face and that was answer enough for him.

“Daryl, I think you may be psychic.”


	14. Late Night at the C.D.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! 
> 
> I know y'all probably already read this chapter, but the second I posted it, I hated it. I didn't like the characterization, I think I tried to include too much, and it just felt jumbled and uncoordinated. Quite a bit of this new, revised version is the same, but I think I managed to make their tenuous relationship come across the way I wanted it too this time, and I think I was more true to their characters, so I hope you agree.
> 
> Thank you again, I hope you enjoy it! New chapter will be up next Sunday!

“Daryl, I think you may be psychic.”

The words roll off of Castiel’s tongue in that familiar voice that threatened to soothe Daryl’s every aching nerve, smooth as silk to his ears and so, so missed. He missed everything about Cas, and even though it had only been a few days since they separated, the instant those delicate, long fingered hands closed over his own it felt like he had returned to him after years apart.

The feel of his smooth fingertips and the rough callouses of his palms, the strength hidden behind his most minute touch. Daryl treasured those hands, could spend days admiring them. He could remember when they once cradled the back of his head, pulling him forward for a chaste kiss in the early morning, before they had to part. He could remember them knotted in his shirt as they held each other, speaking in hushed tones about everything and nothing in the small hours of the night. He remembered them pressing into his naked flesh, pulling their hips flush as they made love, insistent and unyielding. Taking proffered cups of coffee and handing him plates of food by the fire, running through his hair, flipping through pages of a book…

“Hey!” Castiel leaned forward and snapped those perfect fingers in his face, “What’s going on, did I break you?”

He’s wasted, Daryl thought to himself. He had never seen Cas so drunk, had really only seen him drink that one night in the Impala, and he hadn’t been this far gone. His cheeks were flushed a burning red and he couldn’t seem to stop moving, swaying and adjusting his position to keep from swaying even more. He seemed almost boneless as he slumped forward in his chair. Up close he reeked of scotch and weed, and he got the hiccups about halfway through Daryl’s monologue and didn’t seem to be rid of them yet. Cas blinked lazily, his head lolling to the side and as he squinted at him, Daryl felt his heart flutter.

He was adorable like this.

But he was also impatient, and Daryl couldn’t stall any longer than he already had. “Cas, I’m not psychic. You’re just drunk.” He stood abruptly, moving towards the canteens in the corner of the room, “I’m going to get you some water, and maybe a coffee. Did you eat anything tonight? I didn’t see you actually touch your food.”

“You watch what I eat?” Cas slurred, slumping sideways onto the table, palm cradling his cheek and his elbow supporting the better half of his weight, “And yes, you are. I think you are at least, everything you just described is something only a psychic would be able to experience. There aren’t ghosts down here, only spirits that are trapped in the Veil, and humans can’t perceive the ethereal plane unless they are dead or dying, or psychic.”

Daryl came back with a slice of toast, a glass of water and a mug of some old, dark liquid that more closely resembled sludge than coffee, but would still do the trick. “Someone has to make sure you remember to eat, you sure as hell don’t.” Daryl said, a flush burning its way across his cheeks from the tip of his nose, “And what’s a Veil?”

“ _The_ Veil, it’s the realm between this one and the next. It’s like a mirror of our own reality, one level above, where the souls of the newly dead stay until a reaper comes to collect them, taking them to Heaven or the Pit—to Hell.” Castiel spoke softly, his eyes downcast as he picked at the burnt edge of his toast, “But since the Croats showed up, the Reapers left, and spirits just sit in the Veil, confused and afraid, not knowing where they are or how they got there. If a spirit is in the Veil for too long, they go mad, and become a ghost. This has happened forever, with spirits who can’t let go of their life, because of some trauma or attachment, usually relating to their deaths. They always have the option to leave though, with the Reaper who comes to collect them. If that Reaper does their job right, more often than not the spirit will go with them.”

“Reapers? As in Grim Reapers?” Daryl pulled the journal over to him, his eyebrows drawn as he flipped to ‘R’, sighing as he realized his assumption was correct, “Where did they go? And if they’re gone then… c’mon Cas, eat.”

“No one knows where they went or why, just that spirits have no choice but to stay in the Veil these days, and that means they will eventually go insane from it. Now normally, this would take quite some time.” Castiel explained, nibbling sullenly at his piece of toast and grimacing at the taste of his cold, stale coffee, “But not here. There was a rash of suicides, that’s what Jenner said right? Well that means there are dozens of spirits trapped in this tiny, dark space, with no idea where they are or why they are there. All they know is they are afraid, and crowded by other spirits. They might even think they’re still alive! Imagine it like waking up from a bad dream, expecting to be in your bed, and instead finding yourself trapped in an elevator, packed like sardines with tons of other people who are just as confused and frightened as you are... and it’s also pitch dark, apparently.”

“So that girl, the one I saw, she’s not a ghost?” Daryl asked, absently rubbing at the painful bruise under his jaw, “Small wonder she was so grumpy.”

“She’s not a ghost yet.” Cas shook his head, “But she will be soon, as will all of the spirits trapped in the Veil with her if we don’t act fast. Right now, the only person who can actively see and interact with them is _you_ , because you _are_ psychic, whether you want to believe it or not. I can interact with them only in hot spots, areas where they converge, and only if they reach out to me first.” He leaned forward in his seat, pointing his piece of toast at him like an extension of his arm, “But you! You’re going to be like a beacon to them, and sooner or later they are all going to flock to you. And that right there is less than ideal.”

“How do you figure?” Daryl murmured, snatching the toast out of Cas’ hand and holding it stubbornly in front of his mouth, “Eat it, don’t play with it.”

He couldn’t help but smile affectionately as Castiel grumbled, glaring before he took an obscenely large bite that he could barely chew. He seemed to realize his mistake soon after though, struggling to swallow without choking and Daryl laughed when he finally managed to get it down, chugging half the mug of coffee and following it with a large gulping breath. “It’s not funny.” Cas protested, wiping crumbs and coffee from his chin with the back of one hand.

“No, you’re right it’s not.” Daryl said as he forced down his laughter, levelling Castiel with a stone faced stare, “It’s cute.”

“You’re the strangest person,” Cas said with an unconvinced smile, “and you have to be the only person to ever find me ‘cute’, but I digress.” Back on topic, Cas pulled John’s journal over to him, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for, “This spell right here, it’s a guiding ritual. Basically, it will fill in for a Reaper and create a laneway of spiritual energy right to Heaven’s gates, so that the spirits can follow it and get out of the Veil. However, it can only be performed from within the Veil itself, so I would have to use this one,” Castiel flipped a few more paged, pointing with a wavering finger at a sketch of a circle of sigils, “to get into the Veil first, kind of like forced astral projection.”

“Okay, so it’s a spell within a spell, I get that. But you still haven’t told me why my debatable psychic ability would make this situation less than ideal. Wouldn’t it be a good thing if they all were drawn to me?” Daryl started when Cas snatched the toast from his hand, taking a more reasonable bite this time, “That way we wouldn’t have to go looking for them, right?”

“No,” Castiel said sternly, “it’s not a good thing, it means that you’re at greater risk of possession. They will be able to see your life force, your soul above everyone else’s, and what these spirits want more than anything is to return to normalcy. Anything you feel, or think, all of your memories will be on full display, and they’re going to want what you have. We’re going to have to find a way to hide you from them while I take on the spell myself.”

“Hell no! Cas, if it’s dangerous for me to be in there, then it’s too dangerous for you! We’ll find another way.” Daryl pulled the journal out of Cas’ hands, scouring the pages as he looked for another spell, completely disregarding Castiel’s annoyed huff.

“I’ll be fine.” Cas assured him, gingerly plucking the book back from Daryl’s hands, “Its only dangerous for _you_ , because you _are_ psychic! I wish I had a way to prove it to you, but you can’t sit there and tell me that there hasn’t been a single instance in your entire life where you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Where you saw, or heard something no one else could, that you knew couldn’t really be there.” When Daryl’s only answer was an expressionless stare, Castiel sighed and shook his head, “Besides, even if you still refuse to believe me, it’s not like they would flock to me at all anyways. I don’t have a soul.”

“Bullshit.” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head incredulously. He was used to Castiel’s self-depreciation unfortunately, the guy had less confidence than a fourteen year old girl, but no soul? That was a new one for him, “There ain’t no way in hell you don’t have a soul.”

Castiel laughed sardonically, tossing the toast that he’d been holding in the air onto the table and sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes shone with a look Daryl knew far too well, a stubbornness that would almost be impressive if it weren’t so damn aggravating. “I wasn’t originally human, Daryl. And what I was, before I became this sack of meat and bone and chemical impulses that make me feel things? They don’t have souls, not like humans do at least.” He ran a hand down the side of his face, and Daryl could see the inebriation had faded from him a bit, the carefree giddiness making way for something more sinister and sad, “We… they, have what’s called grace. When they die, their grace lives on and it acts as a de facto soul. My grace was stripped from me when my connection to my people was severed. In essence, my ‘soul’ was taken from me.”

“So wait.” Daryl spoke coolly, but his mind was racing. The room around them was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator in the corner, the clicking of one of the lights as it flickered in and out, and Castiel’s steady breathing. The latter was the only thing to offer him a brief respite from the panicked way his heart pounded in his chest, as he pondered the implications of Cas’ words, “If you don’t have a soul then… what happens when you die?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded so small all of a sudden, with no sign of his familiar gritty vibrato, “I don’t know if I go to Heaven, or the Pit. If I go to Purgatory or Limbo, or if I’m just obliterated, cast into nothingness. I don’t know what will happen, and it’s what keeps me up at night.” Castiel laughed bitterly, and Daryl immediately hated himself for asking in the first place, “You know, the only reason I hadn’t given up completely before I met you was because I’m such a coward. I’m afraid to die. I’m afraid of what awaits me, or what doesn’t, on the other side. And sometimes, when things got really ugly and very hard, I think that fear was the only thing to keep me going.”

As he tapered off, the silence of the room echoed between them. Their silences had always been comfortable before, but this one was the furthest from it: Castiel fidgeted uncomfortably with the sleeves of his Henley, pulling at a loose thread, eyes laser focused at a spot on the floor. Daryl was jittering his knee uncontrollably, the rasping sound of his pants shuffling against the plastic chair joining in with the scattered sounds of the mess hall, and he had to force himself to keep his thumb out from between his teeth. They were suspended in it like tar, and the only way out was to bite the bullet and say what he was thinking, and he relished in the fact that for once, it might actually be a reprieve.

“I don’t believe that.” Daryl murmured, his eyes fixed to the ground in front of him, “I don’t think anyone who knows you could believe for even a second that you don’t have a soul.”

“Daryl, it’s impossible.”

“I once thought that dead people walking around was impossible.” He muscled onward, picking up John’s journal and holding it in emphasis, “I thought that wendigo’s and leshen and ghosts were impossible, and yet I’ve been proven wrong on all counts so far. So for you say it’s impossible for you to have a soul, I mean... man, I think that’s bullshit.”

“You are the kindest, gentlest person I have ever met in my life… which granted, I ain’t known that many like that, but you are the best of the best.” Dropping the journal to the side and drowning out the part of his mind that told him it was a bad call, Daryl reached out in front of him, grasping both of Castiel’s hands in his own and meeting his startled gaze with one of utter conviction, “I don’t know what you did to merit the kind of punishment that involves getting your grace torn out, but I know that you wouldn’t do nothin’ without the best intentions. You only think of everyone else before yourself, you would do anything for anyone in this group if you were asked, and you have the best heart out of all of us. I can’t tell you how it happened, and I sure as hell can’t explain it, but there ain’t no way that someone as wholly, and completely _good_ as you doesn’t have a soul.” Leaning forward, their knees knocking together, Daryl cupped the back of Cas’ neck and leaned their foreheads together, a sweet pantomime that tore a broken sigh from Castiel’s throat, “Baby, there ain’t no way you don’t have a soul.”

“Is that really what you think?” Castiel asked softly, clinging desperately with both hands to Daryl’s wrist.

“It’s what I know.”

All rational thought left him in an instant as Castiel surged forward, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

Daryl whimpered pathetically as Castiel slid into his lap, effortlessly straddling his thighs and tangling his perfect fingers in his hair. He could taste the lingering scotch on his tongue as it traced against the contours of his mouth, teasing against his own and Daryl could have cried at the feel of Cas’ warm, firm body pressed up against his own. The feel of his soft skin, smattered here and there with scars under Daryl’s palms had him gasping, and he eagerly breathed in every moan that slipped from between Castiel’s lips.

Oh, he had missed this. He missed the sounds Cas made, and the small, almost imperceptible way he rolled his hips, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He missed the easy slope of his lower back, the gentle curve of his ass and the sharp jut of his hips. He even missed the shallow dip of Castiel’s skin stretched too thin across his ribs, evidence that he was still too skinny for his own good. His shuttered, heavy lidded eyes and his furrowed brow as he gasped and groaned against Daryl’s mouth, his fingers as they clenched in his hair, the breathy way he said his name, spurring him on and he could feel the last threads of his resolve snapping under Castiel’s insistent touch.

All but one.

Daryl stilled his shaking hands, reluctantly pulling them from beneath Castiel’s shirt and pushing gently at his center of his chest. “Cas, stop.” He said softly, inwardly kicking himself for choosing this moment to be the voice of reason, “Man, you’re drunk. You don’t really want to do this, not right now at least and I don’t want add ‘taking advantage of you while you were wasted’ to the list of things I’m sorry for.” Seeing the argument bubbling just behind Cas’ terse expression, Daryl gestured pointedly between the two of them, “We stopped doing this for a reason, and we ain’t going to do either of us any good by jumping back into it half cocked, yeah? Without a plan?”

He swore his heart stopped beating, his breath catching in his chest as they hovered there, lips mere inches apart and eyes locked. Castiel was swaying gently forwards as he pondered his next move, rolling Daryl’s words over in his mind and Daryl thought he might be the only thing holding him up, his fingers splayed against Castiel’s chest. He was suddenly so very nervous, anxiety cresting in the pit of his stomach as Cas watched him with heavy lidded eyes, and he was certain that he was going to kiss him again, even though he knew better. He was sure of it, and he didn’t think he would have the strength to pull away a second time.

So Castiel mustered up the strength for both of them.

With a heavy sigh, he gave Daryl a sullen pat on the cheek before pushing to his feet, wavering a little before righting himself and walking around the table to dig through his bag. “I-I think I have what I need,” Cas stammered, his face flushing a bright red, “Angelica root, crossroads dirt… I have an emergency stash that I keep on me at all times, with the journal. We’ll need specific herbs that I don’t have here, but if we raid the kitchen we might be able to find them.”

“Alright,” Daryl’s voice cracked as he watched for Castiel to turn his back, sighing miserably and tucking up his straining erection when he was certain Cas wasn’t looking. He cringed, knowing full well he was acting like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t lie to himself and say he hadn’t been craving that kiss since the morning they parted. He just knew better than to go for it. Satisfied that he could keep his hands to himself, he stood as well and joined Cas at the table, leaning over his shoulder to look at what he had collected in front of him, “what herbs are we looking for?”

“Rosemary, sage, cloves… you’re right, we can’t do this Daryl.” Castiel swung to face him, his blue eyes upturned and his voice pleading, “We can’t just jump back into this, and it’s my fault, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t fair. I guess I just didn’t realize how much I missed you, which I have to say is amazing, because I really miss you. I _miss_ you.” He laughed sharply, shaking his head, “It’s only been a few days, and I don’t know why it feels like so much longer.”

“I know.” Daryl said without hesitation, “It does, and I miss you too.” He faltered, hand raised and hanging in the air in front of him, intent on clapping it comfortingly on Castiel’s shoulder, but thinking better of it. Instead, he let it fall limply to his side as he took a step back, away from Cas’ side, “I can’t even look at you without hurting man, and being so close to you now is tearing me apart. But I’d rather hurt and be near you than go back to not speaking with you and pretending I’m not staring at you every time you come in the room, because it’s been absolute hell. I need you, in any way I can have you, even if it’s just hunting ghosts, I need you.”

“Lori says we need to talk.” Castiel said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper and he looked away, embarrassed, “That we need to stop telling each other half the truth and get everything out on the table, that’s the only way we are going to solve this. And then, if we can’t, we can at least make it a clean break.”

Daryl swallowed his deeply nagging unease at the mention of Lori’s name in conjunction with their relationship, and forced himself to keep his mind on Castiel, “I can do that. But I don’t think now’s the time, seeing as how we have a bunch of angry spirits milling about and choking people… I promise I won’t back out, if we can get back to it later?”

“Of course.” Castiel agreed, gathering the materials he had and the journal, immediately jumping back into the job, “First we need to find a way to hide you from them, so they won’t be distracted when I attempt the spell.”

“Yeah no, we’re not doing that.” Daryl said adamantly, flattening his palm over the list of ingredients Cas was pouring over, and actively ignoring the look of indignation Cas gave him, “Too dangerous for me, too dangerous for you. If you’re doing the spell, than I’m going to help you. No exceptions, and no lame psychic excuses.”

He saw Castiel roll his eyes, but there was nothing to do about it. It wasn’t like he didn’t see the writing on the wall. The instant Castiel had said the word ‘psychic,’ a lifetimes worth of experiences he couldn’t understand started snapping into place. The stinging, awful prickling in the back of his head he would get whenever his father was about to snap. The somber, aching feeling in the base of his spine when his mother was on a bender. The hot, racing shocks that jolted through his limbs whenever Merle stomped through the door. He had always been able to feel what those close to him felt, long before they seemed to know it themselves, and he managed to use it to his advantage most of the time, slinking off or hiding away whenever he felt it manifesting.

He’d always been able to see people too, people that others seemed to ignore. He thought they were strange, or out of place, but he never thought they weren’t there until that moment. The strange old man who used to hang outside his third grade class, asking for directions to the interstate every day for a month was one of them. No one had looked at him, or answered him, and while Daryl had thought it odd that no one called the cops, he hadn’t given him much thought until then. Had he been a ghost too?

Or there was that one time, sitting outside his family home at night when he was thirteen, having just sustained a relatively mild beating for leaving the milk out, when a blonde boy around his age had come up the walk and sat with him. They talked for hours, sitting in the moonlight, about everything and nothing. It was surreal, but nice; he hadn’t many friends and those he did would rather eat their own hand than talk about anything substantial.

He had started to feel better, actually managed a smile or two when Merle had stormed up, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and looking over his bruised and battered arms with a barely contained fury. Daryl had winced out to instinct, but he knew Merle wasn’t mad at him, and desperately wanting to not freak out his new friend he had asked in a pleading whisper for his brother to wait until he was gone before getting in a fight with their dad.

There were only a few times in his life where he had seen his older brother genuinely concerned that he wasn’t in control of his mental faculties. That night had been one of them, because when he turned and looked at the pair of folding chairs Daryl had just been sitting in, there was no one there. No sign of the blonde boy he had been talking with for the past two hours, and Daryl couldn’t help himself: he had started to bawl like a baby. Big, wracking sobs that shook his small frame and he clung to his brother like a life preserver, any sharp words he had dying on Merle’s tongue.

Daryl wished he could agree with Cas. Honestly, he knew his contention was ridiculous, it’s not like Castiel would judge him for it, or think he was crazy. But it was just one more thing that made him different. And outcast, not normal… another fucking target painted on his back.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Cas, true to his word, did look incredibly perplexed. He snagged the journal out from underneath Daryl’s hand, running his fingers along the page as he counted out ingredients, “You are able to accept the existence of the supernatural without even batting an eye, but you hear that you have an extraordinary ability and somehow you can’t seem to wrap your head around it. Can you explain that to me? Because I’m just not getting it.”

“It’s one thing to accept that there are things in this world that I don’t know or understand,” Daryl admitted, watching as Castiel worried his lower lip between his teeth, “it’s another to know that I’m one of them. That I’m something different. Not normal. Again.”

“Bullshit.”

Daryl turned to walk away, but Castiel reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding firm.

“That’s the term you used right? Bullshit? Well it is, and I think you know it.” With his brow knotted and a stern expression on his face, Cas pulled him closer, his fingers digging into the thin skin of his wrist. Daryl couldn’t pull away without prying those fingers off one by one.

“I’ll never understand humankind’s obsession with normality.” Cas said with a huff, “There has never been a time in your history where uniqueness was socially lauded, and normalcy reviled, but there should have been! The most interesting, charismatic and marvelous of your species have been unusual. Nikolai Tesla, Edgar Allen Poe, Edison, Dickinson! People who would go on to make beautiful works of art, miraculous inventions, things that would better the human race,” He shook his head vehemently, “and yet as a species you have consistently demonized and persecuted those of you who were unique. You would rather everyone be exactly the same, cut from the exact same cloth and stagnate because of it.”

“But those people never went away. Those who were strange and different, and they were unapologetic, even if it got them in trouble. Even if it got them hurt.” He sighed and let go of his wrist, but Daryl wasn’t trying to move away anymore. He knew there was no point: Cas would have his say even if he had to track him down and hold him there, “You’re not normal. You are not the same as everyone else. You’re too brash and you have no manners whatsoever, you’re entirely too familiar with hunting and killing and you can’t seem to wrap your head around basic mathematics. You don’t talk enough around others and that frightens them, your skill with a bow is intimidating and you read way too fast. You have no problem admitting your sexual preferences to yourself, but the second another person is involved it’s like stepping in a bear trap, _snap_! And it fucks you up for days. You don’t fit into normal human society as it once was, and you also happen to have some pretty remarkable psychic abilities you never questioned, not once in your life.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Shush, I’m not done.” Castiel slid his fingers across Daryl’s jaw and placed his thumb gently against his lips, “You are all of these things, and you are remarkable because of them. You are the most beautiful, incredible, indomitable soul I have ever met in my life, and I have met kings and gods. You are the kind of man who would save a stranger from dying in the woods, who would carry him broken and bloody down a mountain at great risk to yourself. Who would spend his days hunting and gathering for a group of strangers who you don’t think will ever accept you, just because you can’t leave another human being to suffer.”

“You are not normal,” He breathed, and Daryl couldn’t stop himself from running the trembling tips of his fingers up Castiel’s arms, skirting across his shoulders and resting at the base of his neck, “and I’m glad for it. I love you for it.”

“God, Cas.” Daryl groaned, grudgingly pulling out of his grasp and running his hands through his hair in frustration, “I can’t keep doing this! I can’t take it man, if you want me, you have me, but this?” He gesticulated wildly between them, a still too small distance he had hastily stormed across in his desperate attempt to stay true to his word, “This is too much! I love you, and you have no idea how badly I want you. I can’t take this back and forth, this is just—I mean, I can’t—”

“You’re right, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking,” For his part, Castiel looked just as flustered as Daryl felt, walking around to the other side of the table and sitting down on one of the chairs with a heavy sigh, “I wasn’t thinking clearly. Listen, let’s just keep our distance for now, okay? Let’s just sit here, opposite sides of the table, and figure out what our next move is. Can we do that?”

“Yes, okay.” Daryl relented, sitting in his own chair stiffly, “Let’s do that, starting with a plan where we don’t hide me away and make you take all of the risk.”

“Daryl—”

“No! No ‘Daryl!’” Sitting up straight, he leaned over the table and pointed a finger at Cas, “You might think I’m psychic, but I think you have a soul, so I guess we’re at a standstill. We’re both in danger, we might as well use what we’ve got. If these spirits are going to rush towards me, we should use that! Regardless of the risks, it’s our best shot. Besides, you were the one who said we were running out of time.”

“If I agree to have you come with me, you do realize that if anything goes wrong, there won’t be anyone on this side of the Veil who could come to our rescue?” Castiel said firmly, portioning out bits of what looked like old dirt, but flicking his eyes up to Daryl incrementally, “We could die, or worse, get stuck. And you! A spirit could move in on your body while you’re vacant from it if you’re not careful. You would have to keep yourself completely devoid of any emotion, thought or memory, anything that hearkens back to your life here, in the material plane. Do you think you could handle that?”

“I spent the better half of my life hiding my thoughts and feelings,” Daryl said morosely, “I think I can do it when it really counts.”

“I don’t want to put you in harm’s way…” Cas trailed off, his attention now firmly centered on Daryl, “If you do this, and you got hurt, or died? How could I live with that?”

“How could I, knowing that I let you go in there by yourself? You aren’t putting me anywhere, and I promise you, I’ll be fine.” Daryl assured him, reaching across the table and grabbing the strange gnarled root, “Now what do I do with this?”

* * *

 

It had taken them little under an hour to get the whole thing sorted. Castiel had let Daryl gather the majority of the ingredients, wanting to set up the circle of runes and sigils in relative peace, but it was more or less apparent they couldn’t be in a small enclosed space together for too long without… an incident. Nervous energy vibrated around them almost physically, and if Cas needed to concentrate in order to lay down the spell, there was no way he could do it around Daryl.

He hadn’t stopped trying to convince Daryl not to partake in the spell with him either, but he seemed to be realizing (thankfully, Daryl thought to himself) that he couldn’t stop him. Daryl knew he was pigheaded by nature, and he would be damned if he let himself be sidelined while Castiel took all this on by himself. He felt the malevolence of that spirit, he had felt how confused and angry she was as she strangled him in that storeroom. If his so called powers could make this whole process go smoother for Cas, then he would be there and he would make himself of service.

With bundles of rosemary and sage clutched in his hands, and a flashlight clenched between his teeth he made his way down the pitch black halls, ignoring the goosebumps rising on his skin. Cas had given him directions to the back dorm room, the one Castiel called a hot spot, and he apparently was not exaggerating. The closer he got to the room, the more he could feel them, moving just above his corporeal form but touching and feeling along the outline of his body. If he listened hard enough, he could hear their voices. There were dozens of them.

“Are you sure you are up for this?” Castiel asked him, as he stepped into the small cement room and handed over the herbs, “It’s not too late now, but once we start the ritual there is no turning back until it’s done. I want to make sure you understand the gravity of what we’re about to do.”

“Explain it to me again, then.” Daryl offered, sitting at the edge of the circle, three feet away from Cas and watching him as he poured the mixture of herbs and crossroads dirt along the outline he made in chalk, “Just to make sure I’ve got everything in the correct order.”

“Okay, I’m going to take my right hand and light the match.” Castiel said slowly and carefully, making sure Daryl got every word, “Afterwards, I’ll recite the incantation, and drop it in the bowl. Once the ingredients are burning, I’m going to take my left hand and cut your right palm… apologies, in advance.” Daryl grunted in response, narrowing his eyes but not objecting, “After that, I need you to squeeze some of your blood into the bowl, and then we’ll repeat the process with me. When the incantation is complete, you’re going to take your left hand, grab the blood from the bowl and anoint me with it, and I’ll do the same to you. Then sit back, relax, and when you open your eyes you should be in the Veil.”

“And when we’re there, we have to find each other.” Daryl murmured, helping to break apart the angelica root and dropping it piece by piece into the bowl, “Then, we can complete the actual guiding spell. The one that sends them out of here and up to the pearly gates.”

“Precisely, we’re going to be split up in the Veil, it’s just the nature of the place, but with your psychic ability you should be able to feel where I am. Besides which, if we both make our way back to this room, we will find each other eventually.” With a deep breath, Cas reached across the circle and took Daryl’s hand in his, “There is nothing stopping you from backing out.”

“Stop.” He brushed off Cas’ hand with more force than necessary, and his stomach twisted in knots as he watched Cas’ worried expression turn to hurt, “There ain’t nothing you can say to me to make me back out, okay? So can you please get it through your head that I’m not leaving you alone? We’re either in this together or not at all.”

“Daryl.”

“No, man, you really have to cut it out. I’m not a child, and I’m not your responsibility—”

“Daryl, stop!” His head shot up as he heard the lilt of panic in Castiel’s voice, and just in time to see the color drain from his face. With a start, he made to stand up but was halted by Cas’ hand, raised palm out and Daryl saw that he was no longer looking at him but directly behind him. His skin was pallid and his breathing was suddenly schooled. “Just… look behind you.” Cas whispered as he pointed, and Daryl forcibly turned his head to look over his right shoulder.

All of the objects in the room, from the cots and trunks to the books on the shelves, were now floating in the air. The cots swirled a few inches above the floor, their linens draping off the sides, rising and falling as they drifted along. The trunks rose as if pumped full of helium, bouncing off of the ceiling and dropping down with the force of the impact, before rising again and dragging across the cement roof. Books flapped open and shut as they twirled around the perimeter of the room, and all of the floating objects seemed to be moving to the corner of the room directly behind Daryl, amalgamating into some strange, patchwork sculpture.

“What is it?” Castiel whispered, not tearing his eyes away from the rapidly growing mass of things, “Can you see what it is?”

“Kind of.” Daryl said, tilting his head and straining to understand what he was seeing. Darting in between each item, moving with them was a luminescent blue fog. It was thicker under the larger items, barely a wisp beneath the books, and around the statue it pulsed, ricocheting the objects together, filling the room with an insistent rattling sound, “It looks like a strange, luminescent fog, holding it all together. It’s actually kind of pretty.” Daryl pulled away from the circle reflexively, moving on his knees towards the pile of furniture and books, not noticing Castiel’s hand suddenly on his arm, trying to keep him from approaching it.

“Daryl, please don’t.” Cas implored him, but he barely heard it. Instead he shuffled towards it, his hand outstretched as he approached cautiously, fingers skirting the bizarre blue light.

The second his fingertips pierced the swirling fog, the whole makeshift sculpture collapsed in a rattling pile.

Daryl yelped in surprise as he was yanked back by his elbow, Castiel pulling him out of range of the cascading cots and trunks just in time. He landed in a heap on top of Cas, and they skidded across the concrete with a huff, his eyes wide as he looked at the spot he was just kneeling in, covered with hundreds of pounds of furniture.

Daryl lifted himself off of Castiel and grabbed his hand where it was still wrapped around his arm. “Thank you.” He said sincerely, his heart racing, “What the hell was that?”

“This is progressing a lot faster than I had anticipated… Shit!” Castiel cursed as he turned and shuffled back towards the circle, brushing the herb and dirt mixture into formation and carving the last few sigils into the floor with chalk, “We need to do the ritual, and we need to do it fast. They’re already manipulating things in the material world with a great amount of skill, it will only be a matter of time before they spread out across the bunker and start messing with the rest of the group.”

“Where do you need me?” Daryl asked, placing the rest of the ingredients in their pilfered mixing bowl in the center of the circle.

Castiel sat him at one edge of the circle, telling him to be careful not to touch the sigils or muss the dirt before sitting cross legged on the other side, directly in front of him. It wasn’t very large in circumference, and there was no more than three feet between them as Cas lit two candles, placing them on the perimeter of the circle on the east and west sides. Finally, he held his palms out towards Daryl, clasping their hands together across the circle.

“Once you wake in the Veil, you need to be ready.” Castiel spoke with such gravity that Daryl couldn’t help the feeling of dread that rose in his throat like bile, “They should begin flocking to you almost immediately, and I need you to keep your mind clear, okay? Don’t think about anything other than what is happening right now, focus on the mission.”

“Or I’ll get possessed.”

“Yes, so above all else, keep your mind clear. Any strong and lasting emotion can divert their course.” After a moment of deliberation, Castiel leaned down and kissed his knuckles gently before breaking his hold and lighting the match, “Are you ready?”

“If I do this, does that make me an official hunter?”

Cas’ whole face lit up as he smiled, musical laughter filling the otherwise silent room and blocking out the pounding of Daryl’s heart, “Yes, I promise.”

“Alright.” Taking one last deep breath, Daryl sat up straight and met Castiel’s eyes with as much surety as he could muster, “Let’s do this.”


	15. C.D.C. Storeroom, One Level Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's another one lol. I was on a roll!
> 
> This chapter deals with some pretty intense subject matter, all listed below:  
> Temporary character death  
> Implied child abuse  
> Briefly mentioned non-con near the end  
> Mentions of Suicide
> 
> Its a rough one folks, strap on your shoes and I promise it'll all be worth it in the end ;) Also, don't mind the terrible Latin, that was Google Translates best work.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments and kudos, they mean the world!

When Daryl awoke on the other side of the Veil, he was expecting something a little more dramatic than what he got.

To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure the spell had worked at all. He had opened his eyes and found himself in the exact same spot he was in during the ritual: cross-legged and sitting in front of the still simmering bowl. The candles had gone out, and the only light in the room was the Coleman lantern they had set up in the far corner. Everything was the same: the same four, bare cement walls, the same old wooden door, the furniture and junk that had been stacked in the corner by an impatient ghost, all of it.

The only difference was, Castiel was gone.

And it was really, really cold.

I should have worn a sweater, Daryl thought to himself as he stood, rubbing his palms up and down his bare arms to combat the sickly chill that had set in. He could see his breath in puffs and his thin, sleeveless flannel was doing nothing to keep his body heat in. In fact, now that he noticed the drop in temperature, he realized that not everything was the same as he had left it. There was now a thin sheet of ice covering the furniture in the room, encrusted in layers over the metal frames of the cots, and freezing footlockers to the floor. Even John Winchesters journal, the old leather-bound book by his feet, was stuck to the floor with a sheet of ice.

“Hopefully Cas knows the next one off by heart.” Daryl mused, trying not to slip across the frozen cement floor as he picked up the lantern, the worn rubber tread of his boots not having much in the way of traction. The tone of the lightbulb (which had always been that horrid LED blue) now had an oddly purple hue, which bounced and reflected off the thin, swirling fog that wafted up from the floor.

He had to hop to it, he remembered, he had to find Cas right away. The spirits in the Veil would be drawn to him first, and if he didn’t start moving soon, not only would they all converge on him without him being ready to perform the spell, but he might honestly freeze to death. It was cold as hell in there.

Castiel had mentioned to him that with his abilities, Daryl should be able to find him no sweat, but he hadn’t actually explained how to go about doing that. Daryl shuffled out the door as he wracked his brain over how to tap into a power he wasn’t convinced he had, expecting a dark but familiar hallway on the other side. Instead, he was faced with a large, empty room.

“What the hell…” He muttered, darting his eyes across the room, trying to find something that looked familiar and coming up short. The room was vast, and he couldn’t see the walls through the dark. The only light came from the lantern hung from his hip, and a single naked bulb hanging in the middle of the room from the ceiling. Under the bulb was a small circular table, one of those cheap folding ones that were littered through the facility, with an old dial phone and a pad of paper on it. The bulb was nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the whole room, and a large swath of pitch blackness separated him from the table.

The silence of the room would have been deafening, if not for the dull squeaking of the single bulb swaying in some undetectable breeze, and when the door behind him slammed shut he almost jumped out of his skin at how loud it was. His heartbeat racing, Daryl turned back the way he came, planning on opening the door and coming up with a plan in vaguely familiar surroundings but where he expected a door, there was only a grey, cement wall.

He huffed a panicked breath before he remembered himself, and tried to calm down. He couldn’t get upset, and he couldn’t panic. Castiel had warned him not to lose control of his emotions, or think too loudly, lest he divert every spirit in the facility and convince them his unoccupied body back in the real world would be a good place for a vacation. So, the door had disappeared, no big deal. He would find some other way in. Besides, he had to find Castiel above all else.

He jerked in surprise once more when he heard the tinny rattle of an old, ringing phone. With a curse, he turned towards the center of the room, finding it (thankfully) the way he had just left it, aside from the phone, whose chimes echoed off the walls of the barren room, a thousand phones ringing in unison. He may not have seen many movies, but Daryl knew a trap when he saw one. He could come up with a thousand and one different scenarios all in his head, all involving that phone and him dying somehow. But it was insistent, and he could find no way out of the large, empty but strangely unsettling room.

With a few hesitant steps into the cloying darkness between him and the table, he unclipped and held his lantern up high, not knowing what to expect and not wanting to take any chances. He was in uncharted territory, and he was beginning to realize how grievously underprepared he was. He should have borrowed the journal more, he bemoaned, and he should have been doing his research since the first day he found out about the supernatural. If he had, he might have found a way to defend himself while in the Veil, or at least some way to locate someone in it.

He breeched the circle of light, his hands shaking furiously, though he couldn’t say if it was from the below zero temperature or his nerves. His skin prickled from the frosty chill in the air, and he noted with dull curiosity that he couldn’t feel his fingers as they wrapped around the receiver of the phone. It took a surprising amount of strength to lift it from its cradle, cracking the sheen of ice that had formed around it, and the ringing ceased immediately as Daryl raised the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?” He asked in a stuttering voice, the cold making it hard to form the words properly through chattering teeth.

“Hey there, Darylina.”

Daryl’s face flushed hot as his blood ran cold, the familiar voice of his older brother metallic and thin through the old receiver. He could feel his blood pumping faster through his veins, and his chest ached as his sluggish heart kicked and started, his surprise warring with his bodies reaction to the chill. He opened his mouth to respond, but there were no words, just a choking sound that died out into a keening whine.

“Oh come now, you can do better than that,” Merle chuckled over the phone, “Is that anyway to greet your long-lost brother? Where’s my tearful apology, huh?” He laughed again, but it was mirthless, a bitter and ugly thing that reminded Daryl too much of their father and made his skin crawl, “For leaving me behind? Strung up on a roof like a dog?”

“Its not really you.” Daryl murmured into the mouthpiece, his hand trembling as he held it to his ear, “It can’t be, you ain’t dead. Too damned stubborn to die.”

“Well, of course I ain’t dead!” Merle shouted, his voice reaching an uncomfortable pitch and crackling across their poor connection, “No thanks to you. How’s things with you anyways? Got in good with Officer Friendly I see… still hanging on to that pathetic group of layabouts. Oh! And I heard through the grapevine you got yourself a pillow biting fuck toy, huh?” It was scathing and Daryl flushed a bright red, “Done pretending with trailer trash sluts, now that I’m gone you’re back to packin’ ass? Or are you the one bending over for him?”

“It’s not like that.” Was all Daryl could muster in his defense, his voice pitiful and weak, and he loathed himself in that moment, “Castiel isn’t… he’s not—”

“ _Castiel_? Hah, what a fitting name for a fucking fruit cake!” Merle spat viciously, “You know, I used to think dad’s lessons were cruel, but I’m starting to see they was necessary, little brother. Without a firm hand, you just go straight back to sucking cock!”

“Shut up!” He snapped, and Daryl’s vision went red as he roared into the receiver, “You shut your fucking mouth, you don’t get to talk about Cas, and you don’t get to talk about _that_!” He was shivering intensely, but he didn’t feel the cold anymore, he only felt wave after wave of fury, coursing underneath his frozen skin and burning a pit in his chest, “You knew! You knew what he was doing to me, the whole time, and you never did nothin’! You never even said nothin’!” Daryl inhaled deeply, panting around the furor of his words, “You were just as bad as him.”

Daryl braced himself for his brother’s inevitable wrath, the tongue lashings he’d endured his whole life whenever he got it into his head to stand up for himself, but his tirade was met with silence. The line was fuzzy, and he could hear a dull crackling but Merle said nothing, he couldn’t even hear him breathing. He’s not there, Daryl reassured himself, he can’t be there. Only dead things live in this place. And he can’t be dead.

“Cold…”

A startled cry ripped from his throat as a different voice echoed through the phone, a shaky, feminine voice. The quality had dipped from bad to worse, a hissing static cutting into the line, obscuring her words and Daryl pressed the frozen receiver even closer to his ear, straining to listen.

“It's dark... I can't get out...” The voice stopped and started, and Daryl was suddenly very aware of the chill once more, his teeth chattering audibly and his knees knocking with the cold. He looked down at the table in front of him, ready to hang up the phone when he saw the notepad he had completely disregarded, pushed towards him and flipped open, a message scribbled on the front page.

 _Count the shadows_ , it urged him, the ice that had held it to the table cracked and scattered across the page.

The phone slipped from his hand, bouncing off the edge of the table and sliding across the floor into the darkness. The cord had been cut, he realized dimly, it had never been connected. He watched it disappear, outside of the circle of light he stood in and he looked down at the ground, taking a slow, sluggish step back as he did what he was told. He counted the shadows: One from the table, one from himself, and one more.

Someone was standing behind him.

He fucked up, he realized with a start, he had let himself get angry and now there was something behind him, stalking him. He turned suddenly, slipping on the ice underfoot and backing into the table, sending it toppling to the ground. Arms wheeling at his sides, Daryl tripped over the legs of the table, flying backwards onto the ground, sliding to the very edge of the light. He hit the ground hard, right on his tailbone and a shock of pain ricocheted up his spine, his already uncooperative legs going numb and falling uselessly against the ice, forcing him to scurrying backwards on his hands to put some distance between him and the woman who was standing in the center of the light, back facing him under the gently swinging bulb.

Pulling himself to his feet, Daryl backed up into the dark, fast approaching the wall. “Cas,” he called out in a whisper, not able to look away from her for a moment as he hit the wide expanse of the cement wall, his palms flattening against it as he groped desperately, “Cas, where are you?” He gasped sharply as the girl lurched towards him, walking backwards but deftly stepping over the table legs in her way as if she could see clearly where she was going, “Come on, man, I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to find you!”

She approached him leisurely but steadily, her steps confident even though she was walking in reverse, her long brown hair swaying gently against the back of her lab coat with each footfall, filling the silent room with an uncomfortable rasping sound that echoed off the walls. With his hand behind him, he started walking along the wall, feeling for something that even remotely resembled a door and desperately trying to reach Castiel.

It was the hardest thing he thought he ever had to endure. To keep his blind panic tamped down as he tried to find his escape, to keep his emotions controlled even as he was being slowly pursued by a dead woman with a grudge against him for living. He counted his breaths, he scrabbled at the wall, he even thought to close his eyes but he didn’t want to know what she might do to him if he took his eyes off her.

Daryl choked out a startled cry when he felt his palms glide over something that clearly wasn’t bare cement, but before he could instinctively turn around he took a deep breath, feeling it out and discovering it was a wooden door. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt for the handle, the woman in front of him moving faster than before, no longer a steady march but a brisk jog and the second he had the handle in his grasp and turned, her head fell back off her broken neck, her skull dragging across her shoulders as she opened her mouth into a silent scream. The only noise she made was that phones hideous ringing, and Daryl didn’t hesitate in slamming the door shut behind him.

His breath came in short, gasping pants, and he could feel his sweat freezing against his chilled flesh as he took stock of the room he now found himself in, grateful to see it was one that he recognized.

The mess hall was just as frozen as the other rooms he had been in, a glittering sheen of ice and snow covering every surface, icicles hanging in glassy stalactites from the ventilation shafts overhead. Dishes, bags and empty bottles littered the table they had eaten at, and he could see Castiel’s duffle bag lying open in the same position they had left it in, only covered now in a light dusting of snow.

Approaching the table on unsteady, stubborn legs, Daryl reached out and wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s bag, melting the snow under his grasp and pulling it towards him in jerky, stiff limbed movements. He was so cold that he could no longer close his hands all the way as he crumpled the fabric bag against his chest, slumping downwards into one of the chairs, his breath slowing exponentially as the icy chill seeped in through his skin and down to his bones.

“Castiel, come on.” He whispered, his voice cracking and his eyes drifting shut, “I don’t know how else to find you, I don’t know what I’m doing. If there was any way for me to find you, please, give me a sign or somethin’ because I don’t know how much longer I can last like this.” His muscles jerked under his skin, jolting him back into consciousness for a moment, and he could feel his lashes pull apart as he opened his eyes, having frozen together in the seconds they were shut, “I think I might be dying.”

Leaning forward and burying his nose in the snow-covered bag, Daryl could no longer keep his eyes open. His head felt heavy, as if it had been filled with cement, and he was beginning to not feel the cold at all. His flesh tingled, electric shocks of pins and needles shot up and down his exposed limbs and he curled into himself even more, unable to move or stand, to get blood pumping in his extremities again. He was certain if he looked up his fingers would be swollen and blue.

And then he heard it, faintly, from the door at the far end of the room. The door that led to the elevator room, the first one they had entered into. It was quiet and surreal, but it felt familiar and a tight knot of warmth furled in the pit of his stomach and tugged towards it, urging him to follow this strange, melodic noise.

He could hear it say his name. It was calling out to him in a voice completely unfamiliar to him, one which made his skin crawl and his eyes pound in his skull. It was surreal. It sounded like a dozen voices stacked on top of each other, all recognizably the same but speaking in different octaves, harmonizing with one another through a single throat. It was lyrical, a musical sound that felt like safety, and warmth and home.

Instinctively he knew, it had to be Castiel.

Leaping out of his chair with vigor he clearly didn’t have, Daryl fell forward onto his face, skidding off the thin sheet of ice that covered the ground as his legs refused to cooperate. He cursed under his breath, willing his limbs to move and damn near sobbing when they wouldn’t. “Cas!” He called out in agony, dragging himself along on his belly like a dog, his fingernails scratching at the ice beneath him, “Cas, please!”

He managed to get one wobbly knee underneath him, his limbs jittering so hard he was slipping across the ice, when he heard the door at the end of the room slam open. “Daryl!” Cas called out to him, darting across the mess and he was suddenly not as cold as he had been. In fact, looking beneath his shaking palms the was gone, and in its place, there were only a few inches of water, soaking into the fabric of his pants as it washed away the ice and snow. He couldn’t see his breath and though he was still shivering, the colour had returned to his fingers, warmth flooding over him as his skin flushed with the change in temperature. He felt Castiel’s hands on his shoulders, and he let himself be pushed into a seated position, trying as hard as he could to beat down the sense of relief that welled in his chest as he looked up at Cas, before crying out in shock.

He kicked his legs out in front of him and scurried back gracelessly, desperate to put some distance between him and Castiel. He wasn’t… he had to be seeing things. It _was_ Cas in front of him, he could pick those kind blue eyes out of a crowd of thousands. It was his face, his body, his hands. But only for a moment, before he became something different.

He became something golden bright, lit up from the inside with a glow that pulsed under his skin like blood, constantly moving up and down his limbs and almost blinding in its intensity. His eyes were still ocean blue, but they burned with a furious bright light, hazy and hot like they were searing in his skull. But the most striking change, what Daryl had reeled away from, were the gigantic, pitch black wings that extended from his back. They were coiled tight to his body, and like the rest of this mystery form, they flickered in and out of existence every few seconds, leaving Cas as Daryl knew him in their wake, but they were massive and their position did nothing to conceal their size. He was certain if they were to fully extend, they would reach upwards of seven feet in either direction.

They were obviously incapable of flight, and he wondered if they even _could_ expand. Though he only managed to catch glimpses of them for moments at a time, he could see the unnatural way they bent as they curled in around Castiel. He could see the large swaths with no feathers whatsoever, the burnt and singed patches and the sore, raw skin underneath. The bones had been broken, and never set, and though he tried to hold them high they trembled against the effort, molting feathers falling and floating in the water below.

They were mutilated.

“What are you?” hung on the tip of his tongue, but Daryl swallowed it down. He couldn’t feel, he couldn’t react, he reminded himself and now was not the time. Cas was here, he was safe, and they could get on with the spell. Once that was done, when they got out of this horrid place, they could have a long talk about the mangled wings and the preternatural glowing. But they had jobs to do.

“Cas, we need to do this now.” He said firmly, pulling himself to his feet and groaning at the stiff aching he felt in his chest. He had thought it was the cold earlier, his slowing heart struggling to work against the debilitating chill, but now he wasn’t as sure. The pain seemed to be getting worse, not better, and he could feel a sharp, stinging pain shooting periodically up his arm, “I don’t know how much longer I can be in here, I’ve been seeing things, and I’ve already been attacked once.”

“I know,” Castiel said, his own voice returning as he filtered back to his own body, the strange glowing creature that borrowed his skin gone for the moment, “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how malevolent they had already become; I should have prepared you better. Thankfully, it appears you are still wholly yourself, no one has moved in on your body yet. But we must hurry.” He walked towards the table, pulling chalk from his pocket and scribbling sigils onto the Formica surface, “Do you remember what to do now?”

“Yes,” Daryl said softly, averting his eyes as Castiel was once again blindingly bright, his broken wings dragging along the water beneath his feet, “You read the incantation, I stand at the circle and place my right hand in the center. Once the spell is complete, the spirits will use me as a conduit and I’ll direct them out of here through the path as its shown to me.”

“You don’t have to do the spell yourself, Daryl.” Castiel told him, looking up from his work and meeting his eyes with a pleading expression, worry knotting his brow, “You can read the incantation, and I can be the conduit, if you aren’t up for it. I wouldn’t think less of you for it.”

“They’re already heading for me, yeah?” Daryl asked, stepping forward and taking his place at the table, gently pushing Cas out of the way, “They would be distracted by me as well, _you_ said that. Besides, my Latin is terrible.” He had meant it as a joke, but Cas wasn’t laughing, “This is the only way man, so this is how its going to go down.”

His lips drawn into a tight line, Castiel gave a curt nod, and walked around to the opposite side of the table. “Are you ready?” He whispered, his eyes downcast as his wings flickered in and out of being.

Daryl placed his hand in the center of the circle with conviction, and that was answer enough for Cas.

“Spirituum mortuorum, exaudi me.” Cas spoke with conviction, his hands balled up into fists on the surface of the table, “Perditur sine luce nos docebit vos.”

“Et dabo te in d-domum… suam.” Daryl said shakily, clenching eyes shut as he tried to ignore the burning pain in his chest, his breath coming now in shuddering bursts.

“Vos autem salvus erit!”

Castiel’s words hung in the air, reverberating off the walls as silence overtook the room, a steady _drip-drip-drip_ of water off the ventilation shafts the only sound beyond Daryl’s ragged breathing. He saw Cas frown deeply and begin to look around, worried, as if he thought the spell was a failure. Daryl himself, as the seconds ticked by was beginning to think they had done something wrong, missed a line or said something wrong, until finally he saw them.

One by one, each spirit began to manifest themselves around the table, standing shoulder to shoulder with one another and staring directly at him. There were men and women, some young and some old. They were dressed in an array of clothes, lab coats and suits, or some even in pajamas, and they all bore the scars of their suicides. Some with bruising across their necks (like the bruises he wore on his own), others with deep wounds on their wrists, vomit caked to the fronts of their clothes and a few bullet wounds scattered in the mix. And he could feel them, every one of them.

He felt their fear and frustration, their anger and resentment. He felt their failure and their guilt as strongly as if it were his own, and it paralyzed him.

He was terrified.

He couldn’t remember a time in his adult life when he had been so wholly and completely scared. Where he just wanted to close his eyes, plug his ears and pretend the world around him didn’t exist, but he felt it then. He didn’t want to look at them, but he was too frightened to look away. Castiel’s words of warning echoed in his head and he almost didn’t heed them, he almost couldn’t. So many of his own feelings, his thoughts and emotions bubbled just under the surface, ready to erupt into a full-blown panic, and he was so close to giving in when he heard them speak.

“Please…” A groaning voice rang out in the silence of the room, and though he couldn’t place who it was who had spoken, he realized it didn’t matter, “Help, us.”

The voice rose in volume, others joining it, until he knew that every soul in that room was begging him to help. Pleading with him to fulfill his promise, the promise he made to them when he committed to this stupid spell. He could feel how they suffered, and he had to get them out.

And then… it was like something inside of him snapped. He invited them in, though he didn’t know how exactly he did it, and he quickly realized there were more than a dozen. There were thirty-seven of them, thirty-seven souls all crammed inside his too small skull all at once and it was like someone had taken an axe to the back of his head and twisted.

He hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t given enough thought to what it would feel like to have all those souls roiling around inside of him. It was like going on a roller coaster for the first time. You knew what you were getting into, you could see the ride from the line, could gauge the reactions of those getting off. You could hear the screams of the passenger’s in the cars ahead of you, but still, there was no way to truly know what you were about to experience until you were strapped into your seat with no chance of tapping out, slowly approaching that first huge drop.

He clenched his jaw to keep from screaming, not wanting to panic Castiel anymore than he already had, needing him to focus and be his anchor to the real world. He had reached out and grabbed Castiel’s hand with his left, gripping him so hard he knew they would bruise, and he could feel the bones of Cas’ long fingers grinding together but bless him, he didn’t even flinch. Instead he held on as tight as he could in return, and when Daryl looked up at the ceiling he could see a thin trail of light leading straight through the ceiling, and with his mind’s eye he pointed and whispered “There.”

Every soul tore out of him like a bullet from a gun, ripping through his corporeal form to race down that celestial highway and escape the droning, cramped darkness they had been trapped in for so long. He could feel each of them as they left him and in their wake, he felt a deep, unsettling twinge, a horribly muted pain that sunk into his bones, overriding the pounding of his heart and left him feeling cold. It was like he had a fever, he was sore and shaking, breaking out into a cold sweat and he wanted to do nothing but lay down and sleep.

So, he did. Crumpling to the ground, the last thing he registered was Castiel’s distressed shout as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

The instant Castiel was back in his body, his eyes snapped open and he was on his feet, darting over and kneeling next to Daryl’s prone and trembling form. He was unresponsive, his eyes were closed but he was still breathing, and his legs twitched and convulsed as he arched against the concrete, his jaw drawn firm and teeth clenched. He looked as if he were in pain, but he didn’t react to Castiel’s voice or touch, and his legs and hands beat an uncoordinated rhythm into the concrete, his heels skidding, grinding through the scattered dirt of the spell circle. Cas reached out to take his pulse, barely containing the panicked sounds that slipped passed his throat as he did so.

His heart rate is through the roof, Castiel realized with a start and he hurriedly cradled Daryl’s face firmly between his hands, prying open his clenched eyelids only to find his eyes were rolled back into his head.  “I don’t know what to do.” He admitted softly, trembling with worry and he gasped as Daryl suddenly stopped seizing, falling limp against the floor, his head lolling off to the side as a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose.

“No.” He lifted a shaking hand to Daryl’s throat, accidentally pushing harder than he needed to against the still fresh bruising there, whispering half-hysterically to an empty room, “No, no you can’t do this. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you should be fine!” He couldn’t find a pulse, and with a pained cry Cas dove forward, pressing his ear to the center of Daryl’s chest, but he heard nothing.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

His next moments were a frantic blur of movement and half remembered CPR training. He had learned from Dean, who had insisted that everyone in the camp know at least basic first aid, and he had practiced it many times that one night, but never on a real person in a life or death situation. He never believed he would have to, sudden cardiac arrest seeming so distant and miniscule to him in comparison to the ever-present threat of Croats. But in that instant, he found himself floundering, trying to remember exactly where to place his hands, how hard to press. Did he use his fist or the butt of his palm? What about mouth to mouth, did humans still do that, or did Dean say it was considered obsolete?

With a start, he jumped to his feet, not sure if he could resuscitate Daryl without help, and desperate for someone else to be there. He ran to the door in two long legged bounds, slamming it open and calling out into the dark, abandoned hallway for anyone to come and help, but he knew in the back of his mind that it was pointless. They were in the bowels of the facility; a place Jenner had specifically said was out of bounds to them. No one else was coming.

“Okay,” Cas muttered to himself, barely noticed the hot tears rolling from his cheeks as he straddled Daryl’s hips, ripping his shirt open and stacking his hands atop the center of his chest, his palm just below the breastbone, “You can do this, you have to do this.” He wasn’t certain this position was correct, but he knew that any time wasted meant there was less of a chance he could revive him, so he steeled himself and started compressions. He couldn’t remember what the timing was supposed to be, so he tried to keep up with his own heartbeat, which he could hear clear as day, pounding in his skull as his vision blurred with tears once more.

The room was a cacophonous roar of all too human sounds. He could hear his panting breath echoing off the walls and dirt crunching under his knees as he bore down, arms straight and palms pressing rhythmically into Daryl’s chest. He heard a sharp snap and felt a distinct crunch under the heel of his hand but he didn’t stop, though he did gasp around a sob. Pausing suddenly, he dropped his head to Daryl’s chest again, but still he heard nothing.

Castiel scrambled off him, wincing as he clipped Daryl’s hip with the heel of his boot, snuffling as it elicited no response. He held his cheek to his lips and felt nothing, not a single puff of air, and ignoring the part of his brain that told him it wouldn’t help, he sealed their lips together, holding Daryl’s nostrils shut as he breathed for him, trying to pump some oxygen into his lungs before leaning over and starting compressions again.

“Please,” He whimpered after a long, agonizing moment, pressing his palms into Daryl’s chest, “please, I can’t lose you.” With a pitiful cry, he started compressions again and he began to sob in earnest, “Daryl you can’t. I can’t do this without you, I’m so sorry, _please_!”

It was his fault, his mind kept supplying him, and he didn’t dare hide from it. It was his fault that he was lying here lifeless, it was his fault that Daryl even attempted this stupid ritual in the first place. It was his fault he learned of the supernatural and it was his fault he was dying. In trying to help the rest of the group, to save all those lost souls Castiel had managed to kill the man he loved. He only ever thought that he would be alright, he should have _known_ better than to just assume, he should have thought about the toll the ritual would take on his body. He only thought that Daryl was strong, and brave and unbeatable. He never thought for a second he was just a man, just a mortal.

He sat up on his heels, his hands sweaty as they clasped against each other, pressing insistently into Daryl’s diaphragm. He couldn’t see what he was doing, his vision blurred with unshed tears, and he could vaguely register his high, keening sobs and the rushing of his blood. It was too human, too mortal and he longed for a time when he felt nothing. His mind pleaded with him to let go, to stop, it was done but his body wouldn’t stop moving. He couldn’t, there was no way he would let this man go without a fight.

With one last push, Daryl’s back arched off the ground as he inhaled deeply, his eyes flying open only momentarily before he clenched them shut once more. Daryl groaned deeply, coughing uncontrollably as he rolled to his side and opened his eyes to slits. He was in pain, clearly written across his tight expression, though Castiel couldn’t help but sigh in relief, falling onto his ass in a heap as he watched Daryl get his bearings.

He’d done it, he mused, all the trepidation he had felt thrumming through his body gone, replaced by relief and a deep, unsettling thankfulness. With no powers, no angel mojo, just his own two hands he had brought him back. He hadn’t lost him. Daryl was alive.

On struggling arms, Daryl pulled himself into a sitting position, and Castiel didn’t hesitate to help him. Reaching out, he went to wrap his hands around Daryl’s shoulders, to steady him and pull him into an embrace. But as soon as his fingertips brushed his bare skin, Daryl lurched backwards like he’d been shocked, his eyes wide awake and wary, though the dark circles underneath them were menacing and his nose was still streaked with blood.  

“Daryl, you… you should lie back.” Castiel implored, his hand still hanging in the space between them, fingers outstretched but not daring to approach him, “Your heart stopped, you almost _died_. You shouldn’t be moving, if you would let me help you—”

“No.” Daryl said sharply, his voice cold and cutting straight through Castiel, his heart clenching uncomfortably and it suddenly felt like that anxiety had never left him, “No, you’re not touching me, you’re not coming near me, until you tell me what the fuck you are.”

“I-I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Castiel stammered, the sudden vehemence of his words and the ire on his face throwing him for a loop, “You know what I am, I told you. I wasn’t always, but now I’m completely human.”

“No, you’re not.” Daryl’s voice was a weak rasp, his throat raw and sore. His chest heaved with each breath, and there were the makings of a very angry bruise in the center, hovering just above where Castiel had broken his ribs attempting to save his life, “I saw you, Castiel.”

“Saw _what?”_ Cas asked incredulously. He was hurt, he was confused and he still hadn’t recovered from Daryl’s brush with death, but he could feel a swell of righteous anger. He had done nothing to deserve this, he didn’t even know what Daryl was talking about!

“I saw your wings,” Daryl muttered, and Castiel’s stomach dropped, “I saw your wings, and they were broken, completely mangled but they were there. And you were glowing, with this bright, golden light, and your voice!” He choked on a cough, covering his mouth with a fist and slumping over, holding up a hand as a warning to stay back when Castiel tried to approach him, “Your voice, it was a dozen voices all speaking at the same time, harmonizing with each other!”

“I’m-I’m not…” Castiel trailed off, panic worming its way into his throat. He looked normal when he was in the Veil, he had felt normal. Everything had been exactly as he had expected, what had Daryl seen?

“Enough!” Daryl snapped, “Enough lying to me, man! You’re obviously not human, you were shifting back and forth between what you look like here in the real world, and this other creature in the Veil. What are you!?”

“I was an angel of the Lord!”

Time stretched thin between them as they sat, Daryl completely dumbfounded and Castiel wound tighter than a spring. The smell of old dirt and Van Van oil wafted through the small, cluttered room and the half-lit candles danced their shadows against the wall, but neither of them spoke for a long time. Cas could hear the crackling flame, and Daryl’s breathing as it slowly returned to normal, but when he finally spoke it still shocked him.

“An angel of the Lord.” Daryl rolled the words along his tongue as if he were tasting them, his eyes to the floor, “An _angel_ , like, halos and harps kind of angel?”

“We don’t have harps, though the halos are apt for the upper echelons of angels.” Castiel murmured softly, picking at a piece of dirt on the ground, “A lot of Abrahamic religions got our descriptions wrong, but that makes sense really. We rarely would show our true forms to human beings, as they normally can’t handle it unless they are special. I only ever showed my true self to two humans: one became my vessel here on earth, whose body I now inhabit, and the other’s eyes roasted in her skull the moment she looked at me. I haven’t tried again since.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Daryl said sullenly, groaning in pain as he leaned back against the wall, “What’s a vessel? And if you’re not an angel anymore, why the hell did you look like one in the Veil?”

“I don’t know,” Cas answered truthfully, shaking his head as he reached over and pulled John’s journal towards himself, “I’m not an angel anymore, I fell. I chose humanity over my own kind, and I was stripped of my grace and my wings. They burned up completely Daryl, I have the scars on my back to prove it. I don’t know why you saw me the way you did in the Veil, but I swear to you, I wasn’t lying. I’m entirely human now.”

He sighed, flipping through the pages of the book to the section on angelic possession, and sliding it over to Daryl, “We can’t walk the earth unless a devout man or woman lets us use their body as a vessel. This body once belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak, until we were both vaporized by the archangel Raphael. I was brought back to life, with this body as mine and mine alone, while Jimmy’s soul was sent to Heaven.”

“So you stole some poor bastards body, and got him killed?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Castiel spoke through clenched teeth, “it was freely given. And I regret every day that goes by that Jimmy had to die, but when the time came he was at peace, and I never expected to be resurrected! I still don’t know why I was. The world might have been better off if I had been left dead.”

“Sure. Okay, so this body wasn’t always your body, but it is now, I get that. But an angel of the _Lord_?” Daryl scoffed, his head knocking back against the wall as he darted his gaze around the room, refusing to look at Cas, “So you’re telling me there’s actually a God, and you were made by him? Have you seen God? And when you say you fell, was there an actual fall?”

“No, it was more of a gradual decline, I—”

“What did you even look like, could I even look at you?” Daryl’s questions were relentless, and though Castiel could hear the anxiety in his voice, he was quickly becoming overwhelmed. He didn’t know how to answer him, and he was quickly delving into subject matter he didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole, “We’ve had sex, and we’re both men. Isn’t that a mortal sin? Or are you just kinky for an angel?”

“Okay, enough!” Daryl jerked, startled as Castiel shouted, rising to his feet in one smooth motion and burying his head in his hands, “I told you, I’ve already fucking told you, I’m not an angel! I fell!”

With a deep breath, Castiel turned his back to him, his shoulders bowed as he spoke into the cup of his palms, “I’ve been human ever since I defied God. Since I turned my back on my brothers and sisters, and chose humanity over them. I used to be roughly the size of the Chrysler Building.” He said with a joyless smile, “I had too many powers to count. I was limitless, and could see through all of time and space in an instant. I have been alive since before the fish that would later become man crawled out of the sea. But now…”

“I’m useless. I’m a hopeless, piss poor excuse for a human being. It’s been almost three years and I’ve never really gotten the hang of it.” Cas turned sharply, fixing Daryl with a stare that let him know he was the one talking, and he saw Daryl’s retort die on his tongue, “I fell when the Croats first started showing up, when all of the angels left and barricaded themselves behind the gates of Heaven. I couldn’t handle everything I was feeling; angels don’t have emotions like humans do. And when I fell, every single feeling you’ve had your entire life to get to know slammed into me with all the force of a freight train. I had to learn how to eat, to sleep, to shit and piss and blow my nose! And I had to do it all without help!”

“The human I had chosen above my own people abandoned me, wrapped up in his grief and I had to learn how to do everything alone.” Castiel was bordering on hysterical, pacing back and forth across the tiny, cramped room but he couldn’t reign it in. He couldn’t stop it. “I started using, getting high and drunk every night just to be able to sleep! So I wouldn’t go mad with exhaustion! And then, obviously, it stuck. I couldn’t function without it, and I got so _sick_ … You saw me! I was a mess!”

“You want to know what the worst part is?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he just continued on his tirade, “I didn’t just fall from grace, I fell away from myself. I became someone so sickening that I would literally do anything to get high. The camp doctor cut me off, so I bought off people in the camp. With weed or alcohol, shit I could scavenge on runs. And then when I couldn’t be bothered to leave my cabin anymore? I started fucking whoever wanted me. Anyone, if they were willing to steal for me.”

“I was a prostitute, a thief, and a junky. I used to be a warrior of God!” He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, purposefully ignoring the quiet way Daryl called his name, “I didn’t think I was worth anything. Even after what happened with Jason, I—”

Castiel cut off with a gasp, panting and trembling violently. Daryl was on his feet in an instant, moving shakily towards him, one hand outstretched as if to touch him and Cas knocked it away with a muted cry.

“Don’t…” He murmured, taking a step back, “Don’t touch me.”

He hadn’t thought about Jason in a long time. He hadn’t talked about him in even longer. And he had never told this story before, Castiel mused. But Daryl had asked for the truth, had demanded it, and he was going to get it whether he was glad for it afterwards or not.

“Jason was a soldier, back at Chitaqua.” Castiel began, running his hands through his hair and clasping them together at the back of his neck, “He was funny, and was always flirting with me, so I thought he might be willing to make some kind of a trade with me.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Daryl said, not moving any closer, but no further away either, “You don’t need to tell me this, Cas, I’m so sorry.”

“No, you wanted to know.” Castiel pulled over a toppled chair, righting it and sitting down heavily, “I asked him to my cabin one night, and I um… I came onto him. Pretty strong. And he didn’t like that, at all.”

“Cas, please.”

“He called me a ‘faggot,’ and he told me how sick I was. I was sick, not in the way he was suggesting, I hadn’t been able to use in a few days, and I was so pitifully weak.” He felt oddly detached as he spoke, and Cas marvelled at how easy this was. How simple it was to say this out loud, without the drudgery of his own shame and disgust, “He beat the shit out of me, and he… raped me. And there was nothing I could do. He died on a hunt, a few weeks later, and if he hadn’t I don’t think I would ever have left my cabin again.”

“After that, I just stopped caring about who I was, and the human I was being. My mistakes seemed so small, and pointless. What did it matter if I was a bad person?” He shrugged sullenly, “Its not like I was worth anything to anyone, not even myself. From the first moment I became human, I learned that my body was something so fundamentally integral to my continued existence, and I thought that only I had any say over it... until Jason showed me otherwise. If it was so easy to use me, to take away something so important as my autonomy, then I figured I must not have meant that much to begin with. I must have been insignificant. And from there I just started going along with whatever I was told, I did everything I was asked to do, until Dean asked me to do something even I knew was wrong.”

“I was trying to start fresh, when I ran away.” Castiel said as he stood, brushing past Daryl on his way to the door, “And when you found me, I thought it was my chance. To right all my wrongs, and to be a better person. I thought I had seen and experienced all that humanity had to offer, that it was all just terrible and violent and base… but you showed me it wasn’t. You showed me how to live a different way.”

Cas stopped when he reached the open door, his hands on either side of the frame, bracing himself as he stood on shaking legs. He couldn’t turn back, he couldn’t stand to see the look on Daryl’s face, the indignation or horror, or even pity. He couldn’t take that.

“I understand this is a lot to wrap your head around,” Castiel said grimly, his head hung and his shoulders bowing in a picture of utter defeat, “and I understand if you need time, or if you have more questions. If you would rather keep your distance from me. The journal has all of the information you could want in it.”

Summoning the last vestiges of his courage Castiel walked out of the room before Daryl had a chance to stop him.


	16. Svengali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, this one gave me some grief, but I am finally happy with how it turned out. Sorry for the delay!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, this chapter does delve into remembered acts of physical and emotional abuse, so be forewarned. Thank you for your comments and Kudos, you guys rock! And thank you for sticking it out with me :)

Letting Castiel walk out that door was probably the worst thing Daryl had ever done in his life.

Daryl watched in stunned silence as Castiel rounded the corner down the hall, hearing his footsteps echoing, receding and finally dropping off into silence. The candles at his feet sputtered, reaching the end of their wick and he realized mutedly that they must have been in the Veil for a very long time, the wax all but burned down to nubs.

In the center of his chest, he felt a dull, pounding ache that radiated outwards and up through his shoulders, across his ribs, every time he took a breath. He reached up tentatively, pressing his fingers against his breastbone, and hissed when he felt a sharp sting. Just barely illuminated by dying candles and the lantern in the corner, he could see a dark, angry bruise blossoming out from the middle of his chest, mottled around the edges and swollen. He saw his shirt had been ripped open, buttons scattered across the floor in Castiel’s haste to get it off, and when he ran the back of his hand across his nose he felt a trail of dried and crusted blood leading down to his chin.

His heart had stopped, that’s what Cas said. It was clear now, the pain he was feeling in the Veil, his chest and arm, he’d had a damn heart attack. From the stress of having those spirits inside of him, or maybe even just his own fear, he couldn’t say, but he was so tired. He felt like he had run a marathon, his throat dry and scratchy, his voice hoarse and he felt as if he could just sit down and not move for hours. His head ached. His chest pounded.

He needed to find Cas, though. And before that, he needed some context.

An angel, he mused as he picked up the discarded journal, flipping it open to the page on angelic possession. Castiel had mentioned in passing that demons were a thing, and their trip to the Veil that night had been all the convincing he needed that there was actually an afterlife.  But for there to be an actual god? And not god, but God, with a capital ‘g’? He had so many questions, concerns about what he had done in his life, and things he had not. Worries and curiosities about the nature of their relationship, about what in the bible was actually true, if anything at all.

And questions about Cas himself. Who was he in Heaven? Was he someone important, was he a part of the upper echelons of angels that he mentioned, or was he just like an ordinary, blue collar angel? How did he fit into their society, and how did their society work? What did he really lose, and what (if anything) did he gain becoming human?

Hopefully one of the Winchester’s had thought to write some of the answers down in here, Daryl thought to himself, scanning over the plethora of handwriting on the pages in front of him. There was John’s sweeping script, Sam’s handwriting that looked a lot like his fathers, and Dean’s bold, blocky printing, spread out over five small pieces of paper. Front and back, and that was all.

It appeared that Cas was right, as he whipped through them, reading at his normal breakneck speed. Most of his questions were in the book, answers laid out bare and succinct before his eyes. The only ones that weren’t were the ones relating to Castiel himself. He learned about vessels, possession, and the archangels. And also about the hierarchy in Heaven, which read like a militarized state.

Castiel was a soldier, Daryl realised, and suddenly so much made sense to him. Of course he was a soldier, from their first encounter with the supernatural, to the attack on the camp, he had jumped into action with poise and a sense of duty. He never hesitated when the shit hit the fan, and he was more than capable of making the hard, executive decisions that no one else was. It was why Shane and Rick gravitated to him, and sought out his opinion. He was a fighter like them.

“But how did he fall? C’mon guys, you had to have written something about that in here.” Daryl murmured under his breath, flipping back and forth through the short section on angels. There was no mention of Castiel’s fall, but they did mention two others. In a small paragraph on fallen angels, there were two names listed: Lucifer and Anna.

Lucifer was cast out. Anna had chosen to extract her grace and become human. Lucifer’s reasons for being cast from Heaven Daryl knew, or he at least he knew enough. And Cas didn’t choose to become human, he just chose humanity… which Daryl couldn’t understand in the least. How did he choose them? Did he choose them all, the entire human race? Or just one?

Dean, he thought sullenly. He said he chose a human, singular, during his tirade. It had to have been Dean, so maybe that meant Cas did chose to fall. But he _said_ he was cast out…

With a groan of frustration, Daryl dropped the book on the floor and grabbed his lantern. It wasn’t going to do them any good to just stand around, making up stories and coming to conclusions on their own. He had to find Cas.

He knew he shouldn’t have let him walk out the door, but Daryl wasn’t thinking straight. His head still felt like he’d been run through a paint mixer, and he was shaken by what he saw in the Veil. If he hadn’t been brought back from the brink of death, he liked to think he might have reacted differently, however when he awoke he could still see the golden bright light emanating from Castiel’s skin, and the burning ring of fire circling behind his head. He was convinced Cas had lied in that moment, certain that whatever monster he claimed he used to be, he still was, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He hadn’t meant to bombard him with questions, to jab and prod with such barbed tenacity that Castiel would snap. Daryl was confused, and admittedly at that point pretty frightened, but he never wanted to hurt him. It seemed he had hit a nerve though, if Cas’ confession was anything to go by. Now, the angel stuff Daryl didn’t know, but all that came after? The drugs, the abuse and the self-loathing that followed? He saw that coming a mile away. He saw it in Castiel’s panic attacks, whenever things got too heated. It was clear as day in the way he would flinch away from anyone if they touched him without warning him first. And it was obviously the cause of his poor self-esteem.

He could recognize it easily, because he did all the same shit.

They needed to talk. Honestly this time, no little white lies and no covering their tracks. He couldn’t keep putting his foot in his mouth, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and hurting Cas because of it. He hated feeling like he was walking on eggshells, constantly worrying that he was going to be unintentionally insensitive because he didn’t know what Cas wanted to avoid talking about. And he needed to be honest too, he needed to let Castiel know that he understood what he was going through.

His heart clenched painfully at the thought that Cas never had someone to help him. No wonder he was so hard on himself, when no one ever explained to him that making mistakes and feeling like a failure was a part of being human. Castiel just thought it made him a bad person.

He was so new, Daryl thought as he walked through the halls, keeping an ear open for any sound of Castiel. The childlike sense of discovery that Daryl adored, it didn’t just come from a sheltered life and a shitty upbringing like he had originally surmised. If the journal was to be believed, angels like Cas spent their lives watching and guarding humanity, not ever participating or understanding, just observing. To Castiel, everything he experienced was something he had seen happen a thousand times over, but never truly appreciated the intricacies of. Simple things like fireflies and chocolate bars that seemed so mundane, to Castiel they were novel, something completely fascinating. And things like starting a fire, washing clothes, tying knots, no wonder they seemed completely frustrating to him. He was a freaking angel, and he was being stumped by something as simple as a line of rope? Some twigs and sparks? It must make him feel so useless.

How had he learned what hunger was? He obviously didn’t do it very well, he still had a hard time figuring out when he had to eat. Daryl had initially assumed he was just a little scatter-brained, forgetful. But now he knew that Castiel was never taught to recognize the impulses of his body… and he didn’t understand them, because he wasn’t used to having a body. The journal had said that angels were more like a “multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent,” incorporeal in the way that while they had physical forms, they only existed outside of humanities conception of space and time. Whatever that meant, Daryl surmised that he also never had to eat, drink or sleep. He probably didn’t get random itches, and aches, or have to clean and stretch. The first time he fell asleep, Daryl wondered, was he afraid? Did he think he was dying? Just imagining Castiel going through all of that alone was like a firm punch to the gut, and Daryl wished he had been there when he fell. He wished he could have been there to help him.

He heard the sound of metal on stone as he walked towards the end of the hall, and immediately knew it had to be Cas. He had been distraught that he hadn’t the time to properly hone his knives before leaving the quarry, and there was no way anyone else was awake so late at night. Or early in the morning, Daryl couldn’t say for sure, with there being no clocks or windows in the underground bunker. Castiel was obsessively careful with his knives, stating time and again that if the curvature was off even slightly, it could mean the difference between life and death. And then there was Daryl’s personal favorite, that Castiel always said with the utmost conviction, not realizing it made him sound like a caricature of a Kung Fu master, “a weapon that is treated well will treat its wielder well in return.” Cas would often wax poetic when caring for his blades, and you couldn’t get through to him while he was working at his stone. It was his escape. So, if there was anyone in Jenner’s control room, sharpening knives at the early hours of what Daryl could only assume was morning, it was most certainly Castiel.

Daryl pushed the door open slowly, stepping inside and shutting it behind him with enough force to make sure Cas knew he was there. The sound of a knife scraping against the stone halted the instant the door closed behind him, and he could hear Castiel’s sharp intake of breath. He couldn’t see him, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t there to intrude, and if Cas wanted to hide himself behind one of the many large machines that spanned the room, Daryl would take no offence. He didn’t have to see Castiel to talk to him.

“It’s just me.” Daryl ventured forward, the worn treads of his boots squeaking across the tile floor, “I need to speak to you, and you don’t need to come out here. You don’t even need to talk back if you don’t want to. But I have a few things I need to say… do you mind?”

“I thought it was human custom to knock before coming into a room?” Cas said sullenly, shifting his legs and Daryl could just make out the jut of his knee before it disappeared behind the console directly in front of him, about five feet away. The long, metal box was a short and stocky rectangle, and in his minds eye Daryl could picture Cas, cross-legged and hunched over his stone, his hunting knife still pressed parallel to the grit, on the opposite side.

“It is, I’m sorry.” Daryl meant it sincerely, he wasn’t the best with manners. In his family, they didn’t mean much, “Can I just sit over here? If you want me to go, man just say the word and I’m gone. But I really do want to talk to you. Please?”

There was a lengthy pause, a long-suffering sigh, and Daryl swore he could hear Castiel roll his eyes, before he answered with a quiet “Yes.”

Daryl turned his back to the console and let himself slide to the floor, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. It was just wide enough for him to sit comfortably against, leaning back and flattening his shoulders across the cool metal panel, and he curled his fists loosely in his lap. He needed to choose his words carefully, as judging by Castiel’s put-upon tone, he wasn’t going to take kindly to being prodded at again. Daryl’s questions could wait until later, he surmised. First he had to square things out between them.

“I want to apologise.” Daryl said, listening for Castiel’s response through the hum of machinery.

“You don’t have to,” Cas murmured, and Daryl heard him dragging his blade across the whetstone once more, “You’ve been through a lot tonight, I mean you realized you were psychic, I dragged you into the Veil, you exorcized more spirits than I have ever seen one psychic manage, and you _died_. I think I can forgive you for being a little brash when you found out I was a biblical angel.”

“Okay, fair point, but I ain’t just talking about tonight Cas.” Daryl said softly, picking at his thumbnail in an effort to keep it from between his teeth, “And I ain’t just apologising for me, neither. On behalf the entire human race, I am truly sorry for everything you have had to suffer since you fell. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past three years, but I know that I alone have been puttin’ you through the ringer, and I’m… very ashamed. I’m sorry.”

“Daryl, please, this isn’t necessary—”

“No, man it is.” Running his hands through his hair, Daryl let his head fall back against the console as he stared up at the ceiling, running his gaze along the crisscrossing lines of ventilation shafts and support beams, trying to collect his thoughts, “I can’t stop thinking about you all by yourself. It kills me to imagine you starving because you didn’t know you were hungry, gettin’ high so you could sleep undisturbed, having no one to show you the ropes and how to function as an entirely new species.” He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m going to tell you a bit of a story, okay? It’s not an easy one, but I have a point I’m trying to make, and I need to tell it to bring it around full circle.”

“Okay.”

Castiel’s reply was abrupt, but not unkind, and with a calming breath Daryl opened his eyes, “My dad used to beat the shit out of me. I wasn’t special or nothin’, my mom got it first, then my brother when he was old enough to talk back, and when Merle left, he moved on to me. Natural progression, I guess. I was thirteen the first time he hit me,” he paused, hearing Cas shuffle around behind him and then the rasp of fabric, probably wiping his knife off on the same bandana he always used, “but before he ever laid a hand on me, he was already an abusive piece of shit.”

“He used to hurt my mom if she got too close to me, if she was kind to me, tried to hug me or anything. Said she was going to make me soft, turn me queer, and isn’t that just the most ironic thing you’ve heard all day.” He couldn’t remember a time when his mom hugged him outside of his closed room, or when she would say anything to him other than “yes,” “no,” or “smarten up.” But whenever she did, she would get a belt across the mouth, or something equally heinous, and Daryl grit his teeth at the memory of it, “So she pulled away from me, and after a while I learned not to ask for her at all. He used to hurt my brother too. If he was nice to me, if he would joke around with me or talk to me when my dad wasn’t around. He used the same excuse really, my dad said it was because he didn’t want me to pick up Merle’s bad habits, and he didn’t want him coddlin’ me neither. But Merle was stubborn and he wouldn’t leave me be, so I had to start pushing him away myself, else my dad would’ve killed him.”

“I wasn’t allowed to hang out with friends anymore after my mom died, when I was eleven.” Pausing with a deep breath through his nose, Daryl shut his eyes tight and clenched his jaw. He hated talking about this. Every time, though he would readily admit they had been few and far between, it was like pulling teeth. It felt like the memories of what his dad had done were buried so deep inside of him he almost had to physically rip them out, “And then when I was thirteen he pulled me out of school. I didn’t realise it until much later on, but he had been methodically isolating me from everyone, so slowly I never noticed it... He made me believe that if I got close to someone, they would get hurt _because_ of me, so I made the choice to pull away. He was trying to make sure the only person I had left in the whole world was him.”

“When he started to physically hurt me, it was like a reprieve. Finally, there was this real, tangible proof that _he_ was the messed up one, that I wasn’t crazy! I wore the evidence like a badge of honor, every cut, and every bruise and cigarette burn. The belt lashings were the worst, but the best at the same time, as fucked up as that sounds. Cause they left the biggest scars. ” Daryl swiped at his eyes with more force than necessary as he felt the familiar prick of tears. This wasn’t about him, he thought irately, it was about Cas. “But he still… he would look at all of that, and he’d just tell me he didn’t know where they came from. He’d flat out deny it, and if I pushed he’d get angry and blame them on me, being clumsy, or careless, or sneaking out and getting in fights. Once he even tried to pin it on me hurting myself. And he’d make me feel guilty for wanting to blame him, to pin my own mistakes and my own bad judgement on him.”

“I used to get in trouble for making decisions too, without consulting him first. Everything I said or did, if I wanted to shower, or hunt, or eat or even take a piss, I had to ask his permission for it first, or else me or someone else’d get hurt.” With a huff, Daryl let his hands fall to the ground beside him, curling his knees in towards his chest, “It got to the point where I wasn’t physically capable of deciding whether I was tired or not, whether I was hungry, or thirsty, or anything without him telling me. He had me convinced I was incapable of living without him.”

“When he died, Merle came home for the funeral. We split a bottle of Jack and Merle pissed on his headstone. I was eighteen.” With a harsh sniff, Daryl leaned forward on his knees, listening to the hum of computers, and the sound of Castiel’s motorcycle boots squeaking against the floor as he shifted, stretching out his legs, “I started just drifting around with Merle after that... doing whatever he said we were gonna be doing that day. I was nobody. Nothin’. Some redneck asshole and an even bigger asshole for a brother. I had traded one prison for another, but at least Merle’d let me talk to people.”

“But every so often, Merle would take off for days, or weeks at a time and I would be alone.” Daryl shook his head and scoffed, “It was terrifying at first, and I couldn’t remember when the last time I had to make a conscious decision to take care of myself was. As time went on though, I started to live for those days. When he was gone for weeks, I slowly learned how be alive again, and I think he knew that I needed that. Time alone, to remember how to be a person. He knew what I needed, he helped me heal and even though I still can’t get close to anyone without being afraid, I’m better than what I was when my dad was alive.”

Daryl bolted upright when he heard Cas pull himself to his feet, the click of his boots starting and stopping abruptly, his breath changing. Standing as well, Daryl found Cas at the far end of the console, palms flattened against the vented panel on top and leaning onto it heavily. His posture was stiff and wary, but Castiel’s eyes were soft, perplexed. His hair was a wild mess on top of his head, sticking out in every direction possible, and Daryl melted when he tapped his fingers along the metal surface, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth before he asked tentatively, “How? How did leaving you alone help you?”

“Because it was what I needed.” Daryl said softly, not moving from where he stood, stock still at the opposite end with his hands balled into fists at his side, “Merle knew that the only way to help me was to let me do it myself. That’s the kind of person that I am, the way I’ve been ever since I was a kid. Being alone won’t help you though. And it didn’t, you’re still struggling _because_ you were left to figure shit out on your own. Do you know why that is?”

Castiel shook his head, still biting at his lip.

“It’s ‘cause every human is different, Cas. Every one of these people,” Daryl gestured with an upturned hand towards the door, before pointing at Castiel, “and you too. What I gathered from that journal, the way you talk about ‘humanity’ as if we’re just the sum of our parts, angels don’t think as individual, do they?”

“No,” Castiel said, looking dourly at the floor as if he were a child being chastised, “angels have a hive mind. We all exist as a part of the host, and everything we do is for the good of the whole. We are born with the voices of all of our brothers and sisters resounding through our minds.”

“I’m sure you noticed that humans don’t have that.” Daryl said confidently, but his heart twisted painfully in his chest. How lonely it must have been, he thought, to be plunged into solitude, listening to a silence you never knew existed, “We’re all different, there’s no cookie cutter way each of us works. And for you to think anything you did, be it drugs, sex or stealing, makes you a bad person? Is absurd.”

“When you first fell you needed guidance above anything, and you never did get it. So you found a way to cope, the only way you could, and it might not have been a way you agree with now, but it’s what you needed at the time.” Daryl pressed hands to the top of the console, mirroring Castiel’s posture but not moving any closer, “Just like shutting down and going through the motions was what I needed to do with my old man. You think I’m proud of that? How he treated me, the way I let him get away with everythin’ he did? Of course I ain’t! But I wasn’t in a position to help myself then, and I coped the only way I could. Just like you did.”

“I’m so sorry that you had to stumble through by yourself, ‘cause I know how messy humanity can be.” Daryl gripped the edge of the console tightly, anchoring himself in place as he spoke, wanting more than anything to move towards Cas as he watched him with those sad blue eyes, “I get that you needed to drown out everythin’ you were feeling because you didn’t understand it. And I’m sorry that you ended up bein’ hurt by it. That’s not you failing at bein’ human Cas, that’s humanity failing you.”

“You’re not alone anymore, I promise you. God, it’s my favorite thing to do, you know that?” Castiel’s eyes widened and his shoulders bowed a little tighter, “I love showing you something you’ve never seen before, helping you get something you don’t understand, I live for that shit, man! And kills me that I couldn’t be there for you in the beginning but I can be there for you now. Because I think that’s what _you_ need.”

“I do.” Cas whispered, and Daryl shakily exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “You’re right, I need help. I’ve been trying, but there’s so much… I was just shoved into it, without any idea why any of it feels the way it feels. And some of it I can piece together, but I don’t understand what is normal, and what isn’t. How to think or react, or even interact, it’s so messy and complicated, the only way I could handle it was to ignore everything that I was, but it just keeps on coming! And I don’t think I can’t outrun it anymore.”

“Then please let me help you.” Daryl pleaded with him, taking a step forward before he could stop himself, his hand hovering in the air between them before he curled it into a loose fist, and let it fall back to his side, “You can’t ignore how you feel, it doesn’t work and it doesn’t go away. It all comes out one way or another, and I think you get that now. I know what you were and I don’t care, because I know who you are now. You don’t need to feel guilty, or ashamed.”

“You don’t know that!” Castiel shouted, his volume surprising even himself and he winced at its vehemence, “You don’t know everything. Maybe you’re right, and I was just doing what I needed to survive, and maybe I was dealt a bad hand, but there was some stuff that I did… I knew exactly what I was doing, it wasn’t necessary, and it was heinous. Cruel.” His voice softer, Cas rounded the side of the console. He leaned back against it, his hip resting on the side and crossed his arms, his eyes cast down to the ground, “I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, I thought my actions were justified, but—”

“I know you don’t want to get into it,” Daryl interjected, walking beside the console as well and flattening his palms along the top, heaving himself up and backward until he was perched on top of it, his legs swinging off the side, “but you need to start giving me some context. I can’t help you with anything you aren’t telling me, man. I don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about right now.”

“Dean.” Cas said curtly, his face flushed a burning red and his posture stiff as a board, “When I first fell, I was devastated. I didn’t know how I would manage, how I could possibly function but I thought that, at least I would have my mission, and that maybe Sam and Dean would be there to help me.” Daryl watched as Cas scrubbed his hands down his face, still staring bitterly at the floor, his discomfort so clear Daryl swore it was taking shape, “They were, at first. And after a while, I realized I was gravitating more towards Dean, which made sense at the time, we did share a more profound bond, but it soon became something different, and apparent. I needed to be around him, to be close to him and he seemed to want that too. It took a long while, months after Sam’s death and a few dozen books of sonnets and Byron for me to understand I was in love with him.”

“I thought he loved me too, once.” He was getting quieter by the second, and Daryl shifted closer just to hear him, “I think he did. Like I’ve said before, we were sleeping together. But I didn’t understand my feelings, and I didn’t understand how he acted, or didn’t, and that he was grieving. Because I was grieving Sam as well you see, and then Bobby so soon after. I was still so new, and I didn’t recognize my own grief, I was too busy blocking it out… how could I see his too?”

“Before Sam, we had only kissed. Before Bobby, we were together a lot. Once Dean was in charge of the camp however, he completely changed.” Daryl bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking, not wanting to interrupt when Castiel was finally talking. He just nodded, though he was sure Cas didn’t see him, and listened, “He would ignore me, brush me off, and physically do anything to get me away from him, especially around others. I stopped trying to get through to him after a while, I figured whatever we had was over. Done. But then he started coming to me, either after a hunt or a run, or just randomly to my cabin, and he would kiss me… and I was so lonely. So in love, so desperate for him to touch me the way he used to that I-I would do anything he wanted.”

“He would always leave. And it would go back to the way it was. There was nothing I could do to make him notice me, no matter how much I tried, he would just ignore that anything ever happened between us. I hated myself for it, I felt used and after everything that happened with Jason, it all compounded in this horrid self-loathing. It spiraled, and as much as I tried to block it all out, there are only so many hours in a day, and only so much I could do.” Daryl heard him sniff harshly, and when he looked up Cas was glaring off into the distance, looking at the large projector screen but not seeing it, bitter tears rolling down his cheek, “I started to get so angry. I didn’t get how he could just do that, how he could treat me like garbage, and I wanted to make him feel as badly as he made me. I wanted him to understand what he was doing to me. So I started flaunting everything I was doing in his face. The drugs, the sex, everything that I knew he would hate, that he refused to acknowledge, just so he would have to _say_ something. So he’d have to acknowledge me!”

“It never worked. He’d just stay away longer, I only managed to push him further away. And eventually I would stop, start to see my responsibility in it all and go through these long, awful bouts where I would just disassociate. Hide myself away and talk to no one. And _then_ he’d come back, and we’d start over again,” Castiel held a hand out to Daryl suddenly, palm up and so fluidly he almost missed it. When he curled his fingers inward, Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes, fishing out two smokes and pressing one into Cas’ hand, “to the same results. When I decided to leave, I realised just how poorly I had reacted. How petty, how childish I had become, and I hated that part of me. I don’t ever want to be that person again, Daryl. I refuse.”

He looked over at Daryl then, his eyes hazy and distant, the slowly smoldering cigarette hanging from his gently parted lips, and he spoke without moving his mouth, “That’s why I couldn’t keep what we had a secret. Whenever you would snap like that, ignore me, or make me feel like I didn’t mean anything in front of the rest of the group? It was too much like him. I could feel myself detesting it, do you understand? I don’t want to be bitter, and I certainly don’t want to hurt you in the same way I hurt Dean. Because you aren’t him. You honestly do love me, and I know you wouldn’t treat me the way he did.” Castiel sighed, and Daryl took a long haul of his smoke, his eyes tight and burning for what felt like the umpteenth time that night, and he inwardly cursed himself for acting like such a snivelling baby, “But I might. You said once that you thought I didn’t trust you. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t trust myself.”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Daryl blurted before he could stop himself, his eyes widening as he slapped a hand over his mouth. Castiel looked over at him, startled but quiet, waiting for him to elaborate with one brow raised in askance, “Because of my dad, I don’t trust anybody. I can’t get close to anyone, because I’m scared they might get hurt. Its senseless, and I know he’s not around but it’s like a part of me now. I spent so much of my life being taught not to show weakness, attachment or affection, unless I wanted it to be used against me, to hurt me or someone I love, and I can’t stop it. He fucking broke me, and I don’t know how to put myself back.”

“It’s not about being gay at all, is it?” Castiel asked softly, canting his head to the side, “All of this hiding and sneaking around. It’s not. It’s about control.”

“I think that was more or less a convenient excuse.” Daryl admitted with a sigh, leaning forward on his knees. His head was starting to spin, and his hands felt heavy, but it was so late. He shook his head, thinking he must just be tired, “I didn’t mean it to be. Honest, I thought that was my problem for a while. Then I started thinkin’ if that were the case, I probably wouldn’t be comfortable being with you at all, and then the pieces started comin’ together. I spent eighteen years of my life under someone else’s thumb, all ‘cause I was so afraid of someone I cared about being hurt for my actions.” He took a drag of his smoke, grimacing as it seemed dull and tasteless, and his fingertips tingled strangely, “I’m trying to work it out man, but I don’t know how. The last time I made it over something like this, Merle left me alone in the woods for five months. I don’t think I have that luxury this time ‘round.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Castiel asked, and he was suddenly very close to him, standing in between his spread thighs and cupping his chin gently, “You look very pale.”

“Actually—” I don’t feel very good, was how Daryl wanted to end that sentence, but instead he jerked backwards as he felt bile rise in his throat, before lurching over the side of the console and vomiting on to the floor.

His ears were ringing loudly, and his head suddenly felt like someone had attached a bike pump to it and started inflating. He felt Castiel’s hands on him, one supporting him by the shoulders and the other running soothing circles between his shoulder blades, and he refused to let himself think about how nice it felt to have Cas so close to him again. Instead, he let himself be maneuvered into a sitting position, his eyes and throat checked and his pulse taken, studying Castiel's worried face with as much intensity as he could muster.

“Your pulse is erratic.” Cas murmured, helping Daryl down to the ground and crouching next to him, glaring at the half-burned smoke curled between his fingers before he took it and crumpled it against the ground. Daryl grumbled in protest, but Cas shushed him, his fingers trailing down to his chest, skirting the edges of the bruise, his brows knotted in guilt, “You shouldn’t be smoking, you just went into cardiac arrest not even an hour ago. I should have thought of that.”

“Cas, it wasn’t your fault.” Daryl said, his hearing coming back slowly, the feeling in his fingers returning as he sat still, leaning heavily against the metal panel of the console, “You saved my life. And you if even think about saying somethin’ stupid like, ‘you were only there ‘cause of me,’ I’ll leave.”

“I almost lost you tonight.” Castiel’s voice was soft and quiet, he couldn’t take his eyes or his hand off of the nasty looking bruise, and that just wouldn’t do.  

Curling his fingers around Cas’, Daryl brought his hand up to his lips and kissed the tips of his fingers gently. Castiel pulled his hand back immediately, and Daryl let him go, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on him, and he smiled brightly, tilting his head back in a bashful laugh that lit up his face, and Daryl was transfixed.

Castiel was gorgeous, there was never a doubt in his mind about that. Piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, all long limbs wrapped in lean muscle and taut olive skin, he was everything Daryl had never let himself admire. Cas was always beautiful to him, even wrapped in the veil of an ever-present tee shirt, even in that instant, knowing that his body began as borrowed skin, but was now wholly and completely Cas. Daryl had never felt more fortunate than he did in that moment, studying this ancient creature made man, so painfully human as he smiled shyly, flushed and radiant, and observing him through heavy lidded eyes that had Daryl’s heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“You’re perfect.” He breathed, and watched Castiel flushed an even darker red, “You have to know that.”

“It’s not me.” Cas said lowly, ducking his head and shrugging dismissively, “It’s just a body, it’s not even mine.”

“It is now,” Daryl leaned forward, so close he swore he could hear Castiel’s heart beating, “you’re human, and you’re lovely, every piece of you, even what you can’t see.”

Reaching out and grasping Cas’ hand once more, Daryl brought it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to each of his fingertips. “These fingers are yours,” he murmured, kissing down his wrist and forearm, tugging Castiel forward gently. “This elbow,” Daryl nipped at teasingly, smiling as Castiel snorted disbelievingly, and countered by running his knuckles along the curve of Cas’ throat, “and this neck, it’s all yours.”

“Your voice,” which rocketed up an octave in a sharp laugh when Daryl poked him in the side suddenly, “and the way you laugh when you find something really funny, even though you think you shouldn’t.” Daryl ran his fingers along Cas’ temple, down his cheek through days’ worth of stubble, “Your twisted sense of humor, and how salty you get whenever someone bores you.” He cupped his cheek, running his thumb along the high peak of his cheekbones, and Daryl grinned when Cas scrunched up his eye on that side, “How the littlest things can be so amazing to you, and your commitment to everyone around you.”

Cupping the back of his neck, Daryl brought their foreheads together, feeling the steady rise and fall of Castiel’s shoulders under his palm, lifting with each inhale, “Your complete inability to accept your faults and forgive yourself. All of it, the good and the bad, it’s all you. It’s all human. And it’s all beautiful.” With a chaste kiss on the lips, Daryl ran his hands down Castiel’s arms, gripping his elbows tight as Cas held fast to his forearms, “Including your very real, not impossible soul.”

With a smile, Castiel shook his head, looking unconvinced but amused as he drew back, sitting on his heels but not moving his hands, “What’s the food term for something sweet but overly sentimental?”

“Cheesy?” Daryl supplied with a grin, “Corny? Cloying? Saccharine? Mushy?”

“I think mushy is a bit of a stretch,” Castiel said with a laugh, holding him tightly, his voice now a breathy sigh, “Daryl, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly, leaning back heavily, his head knocking against the panel with a hollow sound, “But I absolutely _do not_ want to go back to what we were doing before. Cas, these past few days have been hell without you. I miss talking to you. I miss your book recommendations, have you seen the book collection here? Its huge, and all I could think about when I saw it was how badly I wanted to get your opinion, see what you’ve read and what you haven’t.”

“I found so much stuff, you couldn’t even imagine.” Castiel said smiling, “That scotch and a carton of smokes, but also random things like wooden dog statues and bacon scented candles. I wanted to take you exploring with me so I could show you all the junk I was finding. I hated not talking to you too Daryl, but I can’t—”

“I know we can’t go back to the way things were,” he explained hastily, laying a hand over top of Cas’, “And we can’t go back to having a physical relationship, but I still need you around man. I need you in any way I can have you, I meant that. Even if it’s as a friend, I would be glad for it. You’re the closest thing to family I have now. I can’t keep myself from you.”

“I can’t either.” Castiel said after a long pause, turning his hand in Daryl’s, and lacing their fingers together, “Okay, lets do it. No sex, just company… I think I would like that.”

“I’m sorry about Dean.” Daryl murmured, running his thumb over Castiel’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” Castiel answered, squeezing Daryl’s hand tighter, “I should never have pushed you so hard. I truly am sorry.”

“I’ll keep trying Cas, I mean it. I’ll keep working on it.” It was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he was certain he’d try. Just the feel of Castiel’s hand in his own had desire burning in him, knotting his stomach and rioting through his veins, but if he couldn’t have that, he would at least have this. He would have Cas.

Castiel didn’t answer him, but he didn’t have to. The wary expression on his face spoke volumes, and though he smiled as he helped Daryl to his feet he still seemed unconvinced. Daryl didn’t blame him either. It was impossible for him to see a solution then, no matter how badly he wanted to make things work, or how angry he was with himself for being so willing to let Cas go. He had promised himself when his father died that he would never let someone have such complete control over him again, and yet here he was. Cas was the first thing he chose for himself, the first person he had ever wanted and let himself be with, and he was paralyzed by it.

If he let himself throw caution to the wind, if he took Cas by the hand and led him to bed with him he knew he would follow. Daryl could see it in his eyes, that same longing he felt, and he could sense it in the weight of Castiel’s hand over his. It would be the culmination of everything he ever wanted, body and soul, but it couldn’t leave their room. And Daryl wanted more than that. Cas _deserved_ more than that.

He wanted to be able to touch him outside of their own space, to be close to him when they weren’t sequestered to a small tent. He longed to take his hand as he led Cas through their camp, to wrap an arm around his waist, to hold him by the fire as they sat in comfortable silence. He wanted to kiss him without fear of reprisal, so badly it made his stomach ache.  

He couldn’t even pinpoint what he was afraid of. Over the past month, with Merle gone he had come to realise the group of survivors he was living with were a decent group of people. There were some he liked more than others, but he could tell they were good, kind hearted individuals. He could do worse with a different group, and he didn’t doubt for a second that the reason no one had broached the topic of Andrea’s outburst with him was because they respected his privacy, and didn’t give a damn who he decided to have sex with.

But it seemed that logic didn’t apply in his fucked-up rationale, and no matter what he told himself he couldn’t stop that knee jerk reaction: hide, don’t feel, don’t let anyone know you might not be a stone face automaton with occasional bursts of frantic aggression. Otherwise, you’re going to get hurt. Castiel is going to get hurt.

He thought that love was a weakness his father had carved out of him with fists, broken glass and red hot iron. It turned out it was only buried, but try as he may the lesson never left him. The mere possibility that someone, somewhere, might see him acting weak was enough to lure him back into his familiar cocoon of hostility. Another cage, one he had apparently never left. He never wrested his control back at all, it seemed. He just rented it for a while.

And Castiel deserved better than that.

So, he could roll the issue over in his mind as much as he chose, but he would not drag Cas back into secrecy with him. And he could promise as much as he wanted that one day he might be well enough to be with Cas in the way that he needed, but he could see no end in sight that evening. In the meantime, he could be his friend.

They had moved down the hallway in a comfortable silence, both running through the stress of the evening in their own heads, when they paused.

They stood, side by side, hand in hand between two doors. One led to the main room, where the rest of the group was sleeping peacefully in makeshift beds, probably ready to wake in a few hours’ time. The other led to the common room, where Cas had spent his early evening drinking with Lori, in what felt like an entirely different day. And while Daryl was looking back and forth between the two doors, his eyes drooping with exhaustion, Castiel was only looking at him. Wide eyed, imploringly, his brow crinkling as if he didn’t know what he should do, and Daryl realised belatedly he wasn’t ready to let him go just then.

It was lucky Daryl wasn’t ready to let him go either.

“So,” Daryl whispered, squeezing Cas’ fingers tightly, “want to make fun of some crappy sci-fi?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Castiel said with a lopsided grin, tugging their joined hands gently and leading them into the common room. They were safe, they were talking and they had a collection of trashy novels… what good would a couple hours of sleep do them anyways?


	17. Downtown Atlanta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you first and foremost for the comments and Kudos, they are always appreciated!
> 
> This chapter is a fun one. I wanted to do a sorta "slice of life" interlude after the C.D.C, not really moving the plot along, but just to take some time with the characters, and have some fun with Daryl and Cas. So, for this chapter, it will be taking place during the deleted first episode of the second season, when the group goes to the Vatos gang at the Seniors Home, and finds they have been taken out by other humans. If you haven't seen the original video, I'll include the link to the Youtube video at the bottom of this chapter so you can check it out if you like :) 
> 
> This chapter will also have an alternating POV and a scattered timeline, so these events are not necessarily happening in order. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! Keep your eyes peeled for another update later in the week, and thank you for reading!

They made the wrong call staying up all night, Castiel mused as he slumped against a bookshelf, observing the rest of the group, scattered similarly around the dayroom of the nursing home. They hadn’t been anticipating leaving the C.D.C. bunker though. They at least thought they had another day left.

They didn’t realize Jenner was blowing the place to hell.

If they had, he probably would have thought twice about staying up all night with Daryl, swiping books from the bunkers collection, sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch and poking holes in the plots of horrible pot-boiler novels. It wasn’t the most effective use of their time, but it had been so welcome after days spent apart. Cas had almost forgotten how easy it was to be around him, and was amazed at how they could fall back into their same old routine as if nothing had changed.

Daryl looked just as exhausted as he did at the moment, slouched over a can of garbanzo beans. The bags under his eyes were visible from where Cas sat, even in the dim light of the dayroom, and when they caught each other’s gaze, Daryl just shrugged defeatedly. It wasn’t like there was much else to do that night, at least they could have a decent rest before hitting the road again the next morning. And it couldn’t come soon enough for Castiel, as he looked around the room at senior’s art projects tacked to the walls, the bright and garish paint splattered with blood. The building was a tomb.

Shortly after leaving the C.D.C. they diverted course through the city, shaken by the explosion, by their narrow brush with death and the loss of Jacqui. The Vatos gang were apparently a group of people who had taken care of the forgotten elderly patients in the facility they were currently staying in, and had been doing quite well for themselves when Rick had last met them. He had been so certain that they would offer their group sanctuary, at least for a while, and they had made getting to the nursing home their immediate priority.

When they arrived however, the place had been decimated. There were corpses strewn across the floor of every room and the grounds were overrun by Croats. A quick sweep of the building and they found no one alive, everyone who had once resided there, from the patients, to the gang members, and even the preacher, had been murdered point blank with a shot to the head.

The assailants had raided the building, taking all the medicine, food and weapons, leaving nothing of substance in their wake. The support that Rick had been banking on was been ripped away long before they ever thought to come there, and they were quickly running out of options. Shane was once again pushing Fort Benning, and there wasn’t much Castiel could say to them otherwise. He could talk about heading to the coast till he was blue in the face, but Rick and Shane went way back, and though Cas meant well and they seemed to value his opinion, it was two against one. Castiel’s was a moot point, and they were heading to Fort Benning.

After, Cas thought to himself, when they realized that Fort Benning was a waste of time too, then they could head for the ocean. Find themselves a nice little island, maybe live there in peace for a few years. Maybe more. Carl and Sophia might live to see adulthood, Lori and Rick might have another baby… they could be safe, and comfortable. He knew that eventually the armies of Hell would reach them, but he prayed it would take some time. And until then, they could at least take a stab at having a normal life.

“Do you have any water?” Sophia asked meekly, interrupting his train of thought as she curled up at her mother’s side. No one had been speaking, opting instead to sit and listen to Glenn portion out the meagre can of beans, and her voice, though quiet, almost resonated against the silence of the room.

“Here sweetheart,” Shane said, pulling a bottle of water out of his bag and tossing it towards her, “just a sip though. That’s all I got and it has to go through everyone.”

“What else you got in there?” Taking a sip from the water bottle after her daughter, Carol leaned forward, trying to peek into Shane’s bag from across the room as she passed the bottle along to Lori. With a wry grin, Shane shook a small packet of potato chips he had pulled from his bag, before tossing them over to Carol.

“Courtesy of the C.D.C.” Shane huffed a laugh, shrugging a shoulder as he pulled three more from his backpack and handed them around the circle, “Thought I’d be having midnight snacks in my air-conditioned room, didn’t know they’d be dinner.”

“Oh, wait!” Castiel jumped to his feet with an exclamation, shocking half of the group with his abruptness and strode across the room to their pile of bags, rummaging around until he unearthed his own with a self-satisfied smile. All eyes were on him as he walked back to his spot and sat down heavily, ripping open his duffel and delving through it without a word. He took great care not to pull out any of the more… questionable contents, burying the crucifix and the vial of holy water in the very bottom as he dug around, and began pulling a veritable hoard of snack food and water bottles from his pack.

“Oh my god Cas, where did you get all this?” Lori asked, scooting over and sifting through the cellophane packages of snack cakes, cookies, candy and chips. There were a few cans of tuna, some cans of soup and at least five bottles of water as well, and the group closed in on him as he continued to pile a seemingly unending supply of foodstuffs from his bag on to the floor.

Picking up a bottle of water, Shane shook his head with a smile, “You took all these from the C.D.C? You sure as hell weren’t planning on a midnight snack… did you think we were goin’ to have to leave?”

“No, I was just as surprised by that as you. This is just a habit of mine.” Cas explained, ripping open a package of Sno Balls with his teeth and taking a bite of one, “When I was living on the road, whenever I’d stop somewhere, I’d stock up. Squirrel stuff away as I found it, and I guess it kind of stuck. You never know when you’re going to have to bug out, you know?”

“Clearly.” Rick said softly, squatting next to the pile and rifling through it, “Thank you, for thinking ahead. Though you do seem to have a fondness for junk food.”

“Yeah, I might need to start reevaluating what I think is important and what isn’t.” With a shy smile, Cas zipped up his bag, realizing that Rick was right: the pile was mostly comprised of snack food and candy, stuff he had grabbed right off the bat. The tuna and soup he had taken as an afterthought, and it was just second nature for him to take as much water as he could carry, “Next time I’ll try to focus on more… substantial things.”

“No, seriously man this is great. And I think I have the perfect complement.” Shane said as he pulled something from his bag, holding it up for the group to see: An unopened bottle of rum, which glugged quietly as he rolled it in his hands.

Daryl, who had been in the process of sliding over a box of Red Vines with the toe of his boot froze, his eyes following the shifting amber liquid. “That to share?” He asked, managing to yank the candy over and tear the box open without looking away from Shane.

Shane’s expression shifted, his eyes darting up and away from the bottle, regarding Daryl with no small measure of guilt. “Yeah, I think since I owe you my life.” He handed the bottle out towards the other man, scratching at the back of his head, “And I think I’m goin’ to go ahead and be nice to you now, from now on.”

In typical Daryl fashion, he didn’t even acknowledge Shane’s stumbling apology, instead going right to cracking open the bottle, Red Vines forgotten at his feet and Cas wasted no time reaching over and snatching them back. With a perturbed grunt, Daryl made a grab for the box but Cas was too quick for him, sitting upright in his spot before Daryl managed to react.

“These are to share, too.” Cas said, taking a handful before lobbing the box back towards him, sliding the remaining Sno Ball along the floor as well, in apology. “It’s the last box.” He explained after the fact, and he smiled coyly at Daryl’s put upon expression.

The atmosphere shifted then, from miserable and beleaguered to relaxed and grateful, and it amazed Castiel how something as simple as junk food and water could change the entire course of a horrible day. He felt it too, the lightening mood as the people in the group sorted through the snacks, animatedly discussing which were their favorite, bemoaning treats that weren’t there, and talking about how they used to eat so much of this when they were however old. Carl and Sophia giggled and traded bites of different colored jelly beans, not looking to see what they were before eating them and bursting into hysterical laughter when one or the other got a less than stellar flavor. Their mothers shushed them gently, reminding them to keep quiet but not without smiles on their faces, grateful that though the past twenty-four hours had been dreadful, they at least had something good to distract them, even if it was only junk food.

With the bottle in tow, Daryl slid across the floor in one smooth motion, dragging the box of Red Vines and the Sno Ball with him. Castiel had been watching Andrea, sitting alone on the far end of the room and was so deeply contemplating whether he should go and speak with her, that he hadn’t noticed his approach. It was only when Daryl shook the Red Vine box beside his head that Cas snapped back to it, turning to look at him with a fond smile and taking the box gratefully.

“These were always my favorite, when I was a kid.” Daryl explained, pulling out a string of licorice and eating it two large bites, “We didn’t get candy much, but for Halloween my mom would take me up and down the road, once my dad was out for the night. It was usually too late for most houses to still be handing out candy, but there were a few that my mom kept in touch with who would save some for us, and this one woman down the street always had full sized boxes of Red Vines. They were the highlight of my night.”

“They’re my favorite too.” Cas murmured, taking one and handing the box back to Daryl, washing it down with a swig of rum, “But I don’t have a fond childhood anecdote to go with it. I just ate a lot of candy on runs when I was at Chitaqua. And Sno Balls. I love them, though Dean never really understood that. Wrong colored coconut and rubbery marshmallow covering perfectly good cake, he used to call them. He obviously had no taste though, because they’re wonderful.”

“I might have to agree with him there.” With a playful wink, Daryl slid the untouched snack cake back towards Castiel, “I never understood the appeal of ‘em.”

With a contemplative hum, Cas nodded and looked down at the floor. “I don’t think we can talk anymore.” He decided with a shrug, before laughing sharply as he ducked, narrowly avoiding a licorice rope to the cheek.

“Keep it down, you two.” Lori reprimanded, looking pointedly at the two of them as they sat side by side, fighting over candy like a pair of children, “Let’s not forget where we are.”

Nodding curtly, Daryl gave Cas one last shove with his elbow before shuffling back towards his spot, handing the bottle of rum back to Shane on his way. Cas leaned back against the bookshelf once more, pulling the last snack cake from its packaging, catching and returning Lori’s amused smile before looking around the group once more with an air of satisfaction. He made mental note to always keep a healthy stock of junk food on hand.

It was some of the best medicine he’d found so far. 

* * *

 

Lori always had a hard time leaving Carl when he was sleeping, even before the world had turned on its head, but now it was almost a physical struggle to leave his side.

He had been sleeping with his head in her lap, out like a light as the excitement of the past few days caught up with him, and he had seemed so peaceful that when Rick motioned for her to follow into the hall, she almost waved him off. The look on his face gave her pause however. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, and try as she may to bury her nagging guilt, she couldn’t and wouldn’t bring herself to say no to him.

At least Carol was there with Carl, her own daughter sleeping against her side, and who nodded in answer to her unasked question when she stood to join Rick at the door. It took some careful maneuvering to get Carl off her lap without waking him, but she managed, and with a thankful smile she followed her husband out of the room.

This was becoming a routine, she noticed, the two of them sneaking off to confer in private, to discuss what was best for the group as if they were the unofficial leaders. Rick was, by all intents and purposes, the most qualified to guide their rag tag band of misfits, having been a Sherriff, a law enforcement officer at the height of his career, and a natural at taking the lead. He had always been good at making the tough calls, thinking on his feet, even when they were in high school. It seemed only natural that he would take up the post at the head of the group, but she was doubtful of her place at his side.

She was never adept at being the matriarch. Even within their own family, while she certainly had her say and was not quiet about her opinion, but she wasn’t courteous about it in the same way Rick was. Lori knew she was brash and outspoken, with clear cut ideals and morals that she wasn’t willing to waver on. She was stubborn, always had been, and she didn’t think she was cut out to be his second in command. It was just an added layer of pressure she was not prepared to take on.

But if he wanted her advice? Well that was another story altogether. She would give that gladly.

“Has he said anything?” Rick asked in hushed tones, after leading her down the hall and some ways away from the rest of the group, “Anything at all?”

“No Rick, Cas hasn’t said a word about the walkers, or what he’s seen out there.” She said, folding her arms across her chest as she fell into step beside him, her arm brushing against his now and again, “He’s talked a lot about his old camp, and I have to say we got really lucky with the group of people we found. From the sounds of it, the group he was with were—”

“Mostly soldiers, yeah he mentioned that.” Rick cut her off in a way that put her on edge, one of her major pet peeves and something she used to complain to her girlfriends about back when those were the worst of her problems, “But he didn’t say anything else? Anything at all? You guys have been spending an awful lot of time together, I find it hard to believe he hasn’t slipped up once.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say, have you thought of that?” Lori whispered harshly, huffing and looking away as they walked, “He had a really hard time at his old camp. So bad in fact, that I don’t even want to ask him about it. Whenever we come close to touching on it, he either sidesteps it completely or gets this horrible, thousand-yard stare that I don’t ever want to be the cause of. He’s my friend, I don’t want to interrogate him, or make him dredge up somethin’ he’d rather keep buried.”

“What if he knows something that could help us, Lor?” Rick countered, grabbing her gently by the arm and stopping her in her tracks. He turned her to face him, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up and looking into her eyes imploringly, “He seems so set on heading to the coast, but he won’t tell us why. He somehow made it across half the continent in one piece, but he won’t tell us how. It’s too much to be a coincidence, he has to be hiding something.”

Jerking out of his grasp, she placed her hands on her hips, her stance wide and her gaze firm. “Then ask him yourself.” She said, not backing down as he rolled his eyes at her and ran a hand down his face, “Like I said, I’m not going to interrogate him.”

“Well I guess you won’t have to be spending so much time with him then.” Rick murmured, so quiet she almost missed it.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He said with more confidence this time, and started walking further down the hall, leaving her to stare incredulously at the space he once occupied.

With a huff, she took off after him, gripping his arm and spinning him to look at her. “Yeah, I heard you, but I think you might need to elaborate on that.” Lori said sternly, not quite believing her ears as she stared him down, “What the hell do you think you’re implying?”

“Do you not see it?” Rick asked disbelievingly, gesturing back the way they came, “He’s constantly around you, always at your beck and call. The two of you see more of each other than anyone else in this group! He always goes to you first with whatever issue he might be having, and he’s always the first to jump to your defense.”

“That’s because we’re friends, and you were the one who _asked_ me to get to know him in the first place! I cannot even believe we’re having this conversation.” She said, scoffing and shaking her head, “What are you, twelve? Did we somehow get sent back in time to a middle school dance, because that’s what this sounds like to me! What are you even suggesting Rick?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, I’m just saying—”

“You’re saying?”

“I… I think he had a thing for you.” Rick mumbled, running a hand over his mouth. He shuffled in place, watching his boots as Lori waited in stunned silence for him to elaborate, “And you know that I trust you, but baby, we don’t know him. Not really. And yes, he’s been an invaluable part of this group, and I like the guy but there is just something _off_ about him. He could have been anyone before all of this happened! I would just feel more comfortable if you… maybe just took a step back, you know? Acted with a little more caution, instead of getting drunk and smoking weed with him in the middle of the night by yourselves.”

Now _that_ took her by surprise.

“Who put this idea in your head?” She murmured chilly, stepping forward into his space and ducking her head, forcing him to look her in the eye, “Because you did not come up with this one on your own. You ain’t a jealous man, Rick, you never have been. And where did you hear I was drinking with Cas last night?”

He paused, trying in vain to figure out how to explain away this conversation without ratting out his informant, but with a sigh he shook his head and said, “Shane.”

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!”

The nerve of that man, she thought angrily, barely keeping herself in check. It wouldn’t do to blow up completely, she could never explain to Rick why this was such a slight against her without having to spill about everything. She couldn’t believe Shane would be so petty as to pull a stunt like this, to get Rick all fired up about something so meaningless, especially after the shit he tried with her last night. He had guts, she had to give him that.

And it didn’t help that it was too close to reality for her comfort, just one step away. Her guilt was eating her alive, having to defend her faithfulness to her husband, when in truth she was anything but. It was just the wrong person, and so help her, having to put up a front and pretend to be angry at his suggestion? It felt like the hardest lie she’d had to spin yet.

“Castiel and I are just friends.” She said sternly, grasping his face in both palms and speaking plain, “Nothing more. We did drink last night, and yes I did have a few hits of a freaking joint, but God help me I think I deserved a little bit of downtime after all the shit we’ve been through these past few months! So don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for doing something for myself!”

“You’re right, I’m—”

“I’m not finished.” Lori snapped, “And as for Cas having a ‘thing’ for me? You do realize he’s gay, right? I mean, you were there when Andrea outed him. He’s been sleeping with Daryl since the first night they came back to the quarry!”

Ever the stubborn man, Rick shook his head, stepping out of her grasp and heading further down the hall, “I heard her, but she was grieving Lori, she was just trying to get under his skin. I mean _Daryl_? Really? Daryl and Cas? That just doesn’t… it doesn’t make any sense!”

“How doesn’t it make sense?” She asked, following after him, her hands clenched and swinging at her sides, “Because Shane told you otherwise? All the evidence is right there in front of your face, but you’re going to choose instead to trust Shane? Need I remind you that he is the same man who once told you he believes Elvis Pressley is still alive?”

Finger raised, Rick spun around mid-step, about to tell her she was out of line by bringing the King into it, when a quiet groan and a thump cut him off and echoed down the hall.

It was vaguely familiar, she noted as Rick held his finger to his lips. It wasn’t a walker’s moan but someone still living, and a part of their group. She dimmed her lantern at Rick’s behest, canting her head to the side as another, barely audible voice joined the first. Maybe someone had been hurt? Or had a run in with a walker? Maybe there had been an accident? The halls were pitch back and there was junk stacked everywhere, it wouldn’t be too outlandish to think someone might have tripped and injured themselves.

When she turned out her light, she expected the hallway to be plunged into pitch blackness, but to their surprise there was a light at the end of the hall, coming from the same direction as the voices. It was streaming from the glass window of a door and seeping out of the cracks underneath, casting moving shadows along the opposite wall and lighting up the floor at their feet.

With a wave of his hand, Rick communicated he wanted her to stay behind, and she didn’t need to be told twice. Flattening up against the wall and craning her neck, she deduced from the psalm on the door that the room in question was once a chapel, and she could barely make out movement on the other side. Rick sidled up next to the door, his gun in hand and she frowned at the noises she was hearing... something wasn’t adding up.

As she listened carefully, the steadily rising groans sounded distinctly masculine, as did the gasping breaths, and the panting little “ah, ah, ah’s” drifting from underneath the door didn’t necessarily sound pained, in fact just the opposite—

“Rick!” She hissed, reaching forward to grab his hand, “Stop, no it’s fine, please don’t go in there! There’s nothing wrong, Rick, wait!”

But he didn’t heed her warning, shooting her a sideways glare and shaking her hand off before glancing through the window, into the room.

His face fell instantly, his look of grim determination twisting as his complexion went pallid. She watched with morbid curiosity as his face changed over and over in the span of seconds, from confusion to understanding, to wishing he didn’t understand, to complete and unabated humiliation, and finally immeasurable guilt. When he finally tore his eyes away and walked back towards her, any and all anger she felt had completely washed away at the pitiful look on his face, and Lori chuckled under her breath as she wrapped a consoling arm around his.

“So, Cas and Daryl, huh?” He murmured, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Yep.” Lori answered succinctly, trying to keep her amusement under wraps, but unable to hide the cheeky grin that spread across her face, “Cas and Daryl. For a while now. Welcome to the party.”

“They seem… happy.” Rick ventured, taking a deep, shaking breath as he let himself be led back to the day room, smiling in embarrassment, “I probably could have gone my whole life without ever needing to see that. Lori, I am so sorry, for all of this. I never should have gone off on you like that. I was out of line, baby I apologize.”

She kissed his shoulder as they walked, elbowing him in the side gently. “Yes, you were,” Lori said, “but I think what you just witnessed is enough of a punishment that I can let it slide.”

“Honestly, I’m not… they’re both… I just didn’t need to see that.”

“At least they’re both young and attractive.” She quipped, laughing as he rolled his eyes and groaned in mock agony, “It could have been worse. Could have been Dale.”

“Stop.”

“Dale and Daryl? Double D?”

“Seriously, Lori.”

“Or Dale, Daryl _and_ Cas?”

“Now I know I don’t deserve this.”

Her laughter rang out bright and clear throughout the hall.

* * *

 

Daryl backed up against the wall, leaning against it as he took a swig from the communal bottle of rum, watching through heavy lidded eyes as Shane and Rick laid into Glenn for talking about the fate of the Vatos gang in front of the children. It had been a few hours now since their dinner of candy and beans, and his head was pounding with how weary he was. They shouldn’t have stayed up all last night, he thought glumly, rubbing at his tired eyes with the back of his hand. He and Cas had got caught up in each other, and after spending most of the night exorcising spirits and running through the emotional ringer, it had been nice to just sit and talk. Not that it wasn’t always nice to just talk to Castiel.  

His chest ached something awful too, with every inhale he could feel his ribs creaking against the movement of his lungs, a constant reminder of how close he had come to dying. He didn’t think he could forget even without the bruising and the pain: the way Castiel had been hovering around him was all the reminder he needed. Not that he was complaining about having him so close, he just wished the pretense wasn’t his brush with mortality.

Every time he winced or struggled to take a deep breath, he could feel Castiel’s worried stare before he ever managed to see it. When he needed to slow down, and take a break Cas would be right beside him, bottle of water in hand and that unnecessarily guilty look on his face. No matter how much Daryl tried to get him to lay off, to make him understand it was okay, that if Cas hadn’t broken his ribs he would have died, it didn’t seem to make a difference. So instead, Daryl took an alternate route, attempting to placate him through distraction by pointing out every odd thing they came across, and adding to Castiel’s rapidly growing collection of knickknacks in the process.

For a creature that was billions of years old, Castiel had a strange affinity for kitschy crap. He loved anything odd and useless, stuff that would make most people cringe to even look at. The kind of shit you would find in a bargain bin at an eighty-year-old grandmas garage sale. He had a set of salt and pepper shakers shaped like two monkeys riding on a moped that he’d found in some house he’d crashed in, back when he was on the road. He had a ceramic elephant figurine, all different shades of pink and fainting dramatically like a Victorian lady, trunk held to its forehead in shock. He had a sequined hamburger wallet he found in a truck stop. A tiny, mustard yellow teapot with a surprised Kewpie face on it Daryl picked up for him at the pharmacy in Trion. A cream and sugar set shaped like a woman’s naked, disembodied legs.

It was the strangest assortment of oddities Daryl had ever seen, and Castiel kept them all safely locked away in the trunk of the Impala, having cleared out a whole section of the weapons cache just for a place to store them. Daryl had asked him once what he was keeping them for if he had to hide them away in the trunk of his car, and Cas had only smiled and shrugged in response, not saying anything one way or the other. But the wistful, faraway look on his face had told Daryl all he needed to know.

He was saving them on the off chance they might find a place to settle into. Somewhere they could put down roots and call home.

It was in that moment that Daryl made a promise to himself. If the day ever came that they found themselves somewhere… permanent, he would build Cas a bookshelf. Nothing fancy, he weren’t a carpenter or nothing, but he could at least cobble together somewhere Cas could display his books and his weird, but beloved collection figurines, so he could see them and admire them as often as he wanted.

In the meantime, he busied himself with helping Castiel expand on his hoard, bringing him pieces of bric-a-brac that seemed like something he might like, stuff he would find on walkers, or in the woods. The C.D.C. had been a veritable goldmine of useless crap: little figurines and statues, old dolls and other such junk that only Castiel would bat an eye at, but they had to leave most it behind. There wasn’t much time for scavenging when they were about to be blasted into the stratosphere. He tried not to show it, but Daryl knew that Cas was disappointed he wasn’t able to nab the wooden dog statue before they left, and he hated to see him unhappy.

But this place, it had to have tons of old stuff. It was full of old people, right? They liked that junk. He was certain he could find something here that would cheer Cas up, maybe take his mind off his completely misplaced and slightly frustrating guilt. Something cheesier and uglier than anything Castiel had in his collection so far. He was determined to find it, and when Daryl had a mission, he didn’t back down till it was done.

Breaking away from the group, he had wandered the halls of the senior’s home, hopping from room to room, digging through shelves and dresser drawers with a flashlight clenched between his teeth, looking for anything Cas would like. He found a saucer shaped like a happy piece of toast, a collection of anthropomorphic spoons, and a ceramic wedding cake topper where the bride and groom were little green frogs. It was all stuff that Castiel would like, but it wasn’t something that would blow the lid off his already eclectic menagerie. And Daryl wanted to knock his socks off.

The hours ticked by however, and as he heard the group tapering down after their long day he started to lose heart. He had walked the whole length of the facility, twice, scouring every room for that perfect piece of crap he knew was there somewhere, but he just couldn’t seem to find it, and he was reaching the end of his rope. He was exhausted before he started his search. He was dead on his feet now.

Resolving to start his search up again before they left the following morning, Daryl grabbed the happy toast plate, thinking that even if it wasn’t the weirdest thing Cas had ever seen, he would at least think it was cute. He stalked through the halls and back upstairs, stumbling with only his flashlight as his guide and basically floating he was so tired. As he rounded the corner up the stairs, he saw the dim light of one of their lanterns, and with the toast plate in hand he came face to face with T-Dog, who was sitting on the top step keeping watch…

And in his hands, he was holding what Daryl had been searching for all night long.

It was perfect. An impeccable combination of practicality and kitsch that Castiel would lose his shit over. It was a cat clock, one of those sleek, black plastic ones you mounted on the wall, whose tail and eyes counted down the seconds by shifting side to side. If Daryl could find batteries, it would be even better, but just the look of it was enough to make him realize that he _needed_ it.

The only problem was, it was currently clutched between T-Dogs palms, who was looking at Daryl like he’d grown a second head. Unsurprising, seeing as the two of them didn’t necessarily get along that well, and Daryl was staring at the clock in his hands like he expected it to catch fire, his jaw set with grim determination as he tried to figure out how to play this.

“I need that clock.” Daryl blurted without thinking, grimacing once the words were out of his mouth and willing himself not to blush as T-Dog coughed out a surprised laugh, “Seriously, where did you find it?”

“Round the corner from the bathroom.” T-Dog answered, a knowing smile stretched across his face that Daryl didn’t recognize, but he was certain he didn’t like, “Up on the wall. Batteries are dead, but it was ugly enough I had to take it with me. What you got there?” He asked, pointed to the plate clutched in Daryl’s right hand.

“Happy toast.” He said succinctly, shifting on his heels and not taking his eyes off the clock for a second, “You can have it if you give me the clock.”

T-Dog didn’t even try to hold back his laughter that time, tilting his head back as he chuckled heartily, letting lose a whooshing breath and shaking his head as he tapered off. “Man, you don’t need to give me anything, keep your toast.” He held the clock out in front of him, waiting for Daryl to take it, “I got it down for you.”

Daryl wasn’t convinced, taking a hesitant step back and eyeing T-Dog warily, “What do you mean?”

“Dude, every time we’ve stopped somewhere, you and Cas always end up picking up some weird ass shit.” Realizing Daryl wasn’t going to take the clock without an explanation, he sighed and let his arm drop down into his lap, “Cas has all these strange little things in his car. Doilies, paper lanterns, disembodied dolls heads and antique irons, most of it stuff my Nana used to have in her house. And when I saw you picking through all these old peoples things tonight, when you wandered off on your own, I figured you were looking for something for him. This,” he held the clock up in emphasis, and it rattled in his hand, “seemed like it fit the bill, and I thought I’d do you a solid by getting it down for you. As thanks, to you and Cas.”

“Thanks for what?” Daryl asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, to Cas for smuggling a lifetime’s supply of chips and candy out of the C.D.C.” T-Dog said with a small smile, “And to you, for helping us get out of that place and on the road in one piece. You really came through man, and I just wanted to say that… I appreciate it, and I’m sorry. I realized I never said that I was sorry, ‘bout your brother.”

“Weren’t nothin’.” Daryl murmured, taking a step forward and hesitating only a moment, before taking the clock from T-Dog. Staring at its creepy, wide eyed smile, he leaned up against the bannister, absently flicking the tail back and forth, “And no, you didn’t. But you did go back for him, even when you didn’t have to, even when he was nothin’ but a thorn in your side, so I think that means we’re square. Sides, you think you were the first person to ever want to lock Merle up on a roof? I grew up with the son of a bitch, there were plenty of times I wanted to do much worse.”

“Yeah, I know.” T-Dog shook his head as he spoke, watching Daryl out of the corner of his eye, “But he was still your brother, and I’m sorry he’s not around.”

“Thanks.” And Daryl meant it, as he walked up the stairs past T-Dog and rounded the corner, “And thanks for the clock, too.”

“Don’t mention it.”

* * *

 

“What in the world is that?”

“Happy toast.” Daryl answered, for the second time that night as he walked into the chapel. It seemed like an odd place for Castiel to be hanging out in, but at least he dragged the body of the preacher out into the hall before settling down for the night. He had pushed the pews to the far side of the room, and was sitting in a nest comprised of his pillow and sleeping bag, reading something called _Invisible Man_. He looked delightfully cozy, the edge of his sleeping bag pulled up to his chin, his pillow puffing up around his head as he slumped against the wall, staring at the plate in Daryl’s had from over top of his knees with captivated interest.

“Happy toast? Is it a plate?” He sat up straight as Daryl shut the chapel door behind him, moving to join Cas on the floor, “Can I see it?”

“Of course, it’s for you.” Daryl said, holding the small saucer out towards Castiel’s reaching hand, smiling softly as he watched him flip it over in his grasp, studying every inch of its faded surface, “I have something else for you too.”

“You don’t have to keep collecting this stuff for me.” Castiel said softly, slumping back down into his pillow as Daryl laid out his own sleeping bag beside him, “Although, I do really like this.”

The lantern barely lit the room they were sitting in, illuminating only half of Castiel’s face and throwing the other into shadow, and Daryl was struck by his look of pure contentment as he stared at that stupid plate. He looked calm and relaxed for the first time in days, and he hadn’t even moved when Daryl’s breath hitched on his way to the ground, his chest seizing slightly. Without worry etching at his eyes and turning down the corners of his mouth, Cas looked so much younger, not a man pushing forty or an ancient, timeless creature but a person who had never had a chance to just kick back and relax. To enjoy a book and some company without the ever-present fear of having to leave at any second, of being attacked or needing to move on. He looked at peace, and Daryl’s stomach clenched with affection, his chest welling almost painfully as he watched Castiel study a piece of tacky dining ware.

He was so in love it was almost embarrassing.

“Well, if you like that, you’re goin’ to love this.” After digging it out of his bag, Daryl rolled onto his back on the floor, holding the clock out towards Cas with one hand and watching his face with rapt attention, wanting to catch every shift in his expression as he took in the strange cat clock, “T-Dog helped to find it, make sure you thank him, yeah?”

Castiel was silent as he took the clock, but his expression, his body language… all of it spoke volumes. His hands shook slightly as he took the hunk of plastic almost reverently from Daryl’s hand, like he was holding something profoundly precious. He cradled it in both hands, bringing it into the light so he could get a better look at it, and as he did the look of shock on his face changed into one of utter excitement, and he beamed. It was exactly the reaction Daryl was looking for, that big, face changing smile, one that was all gums and that creased the corners of his sparkling blue eyes, his chin tilting down towards his chest as he laughed quietly, not even realizing he was doing it. When Cas looked up at him, biting his lip coyly and canting his head towards his shoulder Daryl’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t help but smile back just as brightly. It was infectious, and worth a hundred nights of digging through senior’s underwear drawers to see.

“Daryl, I love it.” Cas said after a beat, holding the clock up against his knees and playing with the tail, just as Daryl had done not even an hour ago.

“Really?”

“Really, it’s perfect.” Castiel hummed quietly, reluctantly setting it down on his duffel with his book, and laying down on the floor next to Daryl, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Daryl murmured, reaching out a hand without thinking and stroking the side of Cas’ cheek softly, “It was my pleasure. I wanted to do something to make up for leaving that dumb wooden dog behind.”

“It wasn’t dumb.” Surprising the both of them, Castiel cupped his hand over top of Daryl’s against the side of his face, holding his hand there and stroking his thumb soothingly against his knuckles, “But the clock is better.”

Nodding his agreement, Daryl rolled on to his side, hand sliding down Cas’ neck and running his fingertips along the jut of his collarbone as it peeked out of the neck of his shirt. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that they had agreed not to, but Cas’ hand was still wrapped around his own, and even when he tried to pull away, Castiel held him fast. “What are you doing in the chapel anyways?” He asked, his voice an octave lower than normal and he fought to keep his breathing even, “This is the last place I thought to look for you.”

“I was actually thinking of praying.” Castiel said softly, lacing his fingers through Daryl’s and holding his hand tight to his chest, rolling onto his side to face him, “But then I thought better of it. There’s no one listening anyways, I guess I just thought it was something that a human might do when things got… hard.”

“Some humans, at least.” Daryl agreed, “How’s it that no one’s listening? Isn’t God always listening?”

“God hasn’t been around for a very long time.” Castiel explained, speaking as if he were talking about the weather, and not an almighty, all powerful entity. It made Daryl’s head spin, “Only four angels have seen God: Lucifer, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. He left before the rest of us were sentient, created us and moved on. There are rumors that the angel Metatron has seen him as well, but no one has seen _him_ since he wrote the word of God, so they remain largely unsubstantiated.” With a sigh, Castiel shifted closer, folding himself to Daryl’s chest and tucking his head underneath his chin, “In short, if he is listening? He’s been very quiet about it.”

“God isn’t in heaven. Cas that’s insane, how does it run without him?” Daryl’s pulse quickened, his breathing heavy as Cas pressed against him. The warmth of him against his chest, the soft puff of his exhalations against Daryl’s neck, it set his skin aflame and he couldn’t keep from wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulders.

“Poorly.” Was Cas’ whispered answer, and Daryl gulped as he dipped the tip of a finger through one of Daryl’s button holes, dragging softly against the suddenly over sensitized skin of his chest, threading through his chest hair, “Michael took over in his absence, and Heaven became entirely militarized. There was obedience, and room for nothing else. I didn’t necessarily thrive in Michael’s Heaven.”

Daryl had to laugh at that, seeing instantly how Castiel’s mule-like stubbornness could be a hindrance in a society based on law and order. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a startled moan as Cas titled his head and began pressing slow, hot kisses up the side of Daryl’s neck. “W-what are you doin’, man?” Daryl asked unevenly, his breath hitching in his throat at the feel of teeth scraping against his pulse point, but not pushing him away, “Cas, we said we wouldn’t do this.”

Cas whimpered pitifully against the side of his throat, nuzzling the underside of his jaw and sighing deeply. “I know. I know but I just,” he moaned softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Daryl’s earlobe, and Daryl couldn’t help but grip his shoulders just a little tighter, “Daryl, I want you so badly.”

“Fuck, you know I want you too, but we just decided that we couldn’t do this. Last night, it was only last night, c’mon.” Daryl gasped, his hips bucking into Castiel’s of their own volition as Cas rolled his earlobe between his teeth, his hand splayed across Daryl’s chest, “Christ, Cas I missed this.”

“I did too,” Castiel murmured against the soft skin behind his ear, licking and nipping a line down the side of his throat, and back up against to his jaw, “and you’re right, but… we never…” He broke off into a long moan as Daryl’s hips crashed against his own, his back arching beautifully and Daryl couldn’t help but run his palm firmly down that long slope, stopping just before the swell of his ass and holding their hips flush, “Please, just one last time?”

“It’s not goin' to be a last time, and you know that.” He didn’t even recognize his own voice, having warped into a breathy, gritty thing as he gasped around halfhearted protests, “If we do this now, it’s goin’ to just keep happening.”

“I fail to see how that can be considered a bad thing.” Castiel said, stubborn as always. His fingers dug into the solid weight of Daryl’s chest as he kissed up the side of his face, peppering his cheek with deceptively chaste kisses that sent a jolt of arousal straight to his groin.

“We called this off for a reason, I can’t…” Daryl’s other hand tangled itself in Castiel’s hair, and he couldn’t restrain himself any longer from nosing along his hairline, kissing his temple gently, “If we don’t stop now, we can’t come back from this. You know that, right?”

“Then don’t, don’t stop, please.” The sound of Castiel’s already deep voice, urgent and grumbling in his chest, so desperate as he clung to him was tugging at his resolve almost painfully, and he could feel himself giving in, “Don’t stop, I need you. I need to feel you, please Daryl, I need you to make love to me.”

Daryl crumbled under the weight of Cas’ breathy plea, and with a desperate groan he pitched forwards, rolling Castiel onto his back and slotting himself between his thighs. Holding himself up on one elbow he didn’t hesitate, bringing their mouths together, his lips sliding against Cas’ and he heaved an urgent breath when he felt Castiel’s part beneath his own, twining their tongues languidly and tracing along the contours of his mouth. His left hand free to explore, he coasted along the sides of Cas’ throat, down the planes of his chest, grasping and feeling everything he could reach before guiding Castiel’s arms around him.

Daryl’s blood pounded in his ears, and as his eyes fluttered closed his world spun on its axis, but there was no urgency. No rush, instead it was an easy slide of lips and tongue, hips rolling as they rutted slowly against each other, Castiel’s hands fisting in his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. He sighed against Cas’ mouth as he felt those hands glide down his shoulders, fingers grasping at firm muscle through the fabric of his shirt, before looping around and making quick work of his buttons.

The frantic speed of his hands ran counter to the slow, lazy weight of their kisses, just as the heaving of their chests diverged from the unhurried rocking of their hips, and the easy way Castiel wrapped his thighs around Daryl’s waist. He broke away with a groan, sitting back on his knees just long enough to let his shirt fall down his arms, pooling on the floor behind him and he smirked as Cas’ heavy lidded eyes roamed across the solid expanse of his chest, biting his lip and trailing his fingers down the center of his stomach to the waist of his pants, popping the first button of his fly without even looking.

Something starved and feral inside of him twisted as Castiel cupped him through his jeans and he hissed sharply, bucking into the firm press of his palm before grabbing his wrist and wrenching it away. Daryl may not have planned this and he didn’t necessarily know where it was going, but he knew whole heartedly that coming within seconds was not on his to do list, and it had been far too long since they had done this. Too long since he had felt the strength of Castiel’s thighs gripping his hips, his work worn hands skipping across his bare skin. He needed to make this last, and he needed to take Cas apart.

“Just lay back.” Daryl murmured, rocking his hips once more against Cas’ and relishing in the lyrical, stuttered groan it tore from his lips, before reaching over to Castiel’s bag, unzipping and rummaging through it until he found that familiar, nearly empty bottle of lube. Impatient as always, Castiel had his pants completely unbuttoned, pushed down past his hips and was working his cock out of his boxers when he finally turned back, swatting his hand away with mock annoyance and laying him down to the floor with a guiding hand to the center of his chest. “I mean it,” he said softly, leaning over him once more and cupping his cheek with his free hand, “relax, and let me take care of you.”

Just happy to have his hands on him once more, Castiel nodded before turning his cheek into Daryl’s palm, darting his tongue past his kiss reddened lips to lave at his thumb, before sucking it into his mouth with a satisfied sigh. The feel of Cas’ hot, wet mouth wrapped around him, his plump lips sliding past his knuckle galvanized him, and he nipped at Castiel’s throat, attacking his sweet, sweat slick skin with lips and tongue and teeth.

Castiel was just as amazingly responsive as he remembered, attributing it to his limited experience with human sensation, and as Daryl worked his way down his throat he ate up every gasp and panting moan, every plea and demand, Cas’ greedy hands gripping at his shoulders, helping him along as Daryl kissed and bit his way down his body. He rucked Castiel’s Metallica tee shirt up under his arms, licking a long swath along his ribs before fastening his lips to the dip of his stomach and sucking none to gently. Castiel cried out above him, bucking against his chest with a sob as he continued his slow descent down his bare, tanned flesh, pausing only to nip at the sharp jut of his hips before making quick work of his jeans.

Lifting his hips to help Daryl slip his jeans and boxers off, Castiel reclined against the bunched up sleeping bag, his eyes blown wide and maddeningly dark in the low lamp light. His cock twitched against his stomach as Daryl kissed along his ankle, nipped at the thin skin of his inner thigh before taking him in hand and licking a wide, slow line from root to tip, one hand on Cas’ hip to keep him from bucking into his mouth as Daryl swirled his tongue around the head of his cock.

Daryl had been hesitant at first, when they first started sleeping together, to do anything other than fuck and trade hand jobs. He was still coming to terms with letting himself want things, and it was difficult to reconcile how he wanted to portray himself to the rest of the world, with who he was around Cas. Out in the light of day Daryl would never entertain the idea of sucking another man’s dick, but when he was with Castiel it was all he could think about, wanting more than anything to feel him against his tongue, to make him fall to bits beneath him in the same way Cas did to him. Daryl wanted to make Cas feel as intensely amazing as he did whenever he came down that sinful throat, cock sliding maddeningly between his lips.

It had taken weeks for him to work up the courage to go for it, not even sure if he would like it, or if he would ever want to try it again. But it only took one night, one night of Castiel gripping at his hair and bucking helplessly into his mouth, and he was hooked. So what if he couldn’t reconcile his exterior persona with who he was in bed, it didn’t matter one bit when he could remake Castiel, piece by beautiful piece, and hear him cry out only for him. Because of him.

It also helped that he was _good_ at it. While he might not have put “gives exceptional head” on his resume, it was right up there on his mental list of things he excelled at. Like most things he really wanted to do, he had dove into it head first, thinking that if anything else, his enthusiasm might make up for a lack of technique, but what he didn’t realize was that a lifetime of indulging in his pesky oral fixation was more preparation than he ever could have asked for. It wasn’t horribly uncomfortable like he’d anticipated, and while it didn’t taste great he found he didn’t even notice, too blissed out at the feeling of having his lips wrapped around something heavy and warm, so responsive to every flick and press of his tongue, that the first time he blew Cas he ended up coming in his pants like a freaking teenager.

“God, Daryl!” Cas groaned loudly, his fingers tangling in his hair. He threw his head back against the floor, his back arching and his hips straining upwards as Daryl swallowed him down, his tongue working against the underside of his cock on the way back up. The slick sound of his lips sliding along Cas’ shaft was so obscenely hot that he started rutting against the floor reflexively, having to take a moment to center himself before he pulled off, fisting Cas firmly as he reached for the lube with his other hand.

“You have to be quiet,” Daryl whispered, letting Cas go with one final squeeze and an apologetic kiss to his thigh, before clicking open the bottle cap and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers, “Everyone’s just down the hall, we have to keep it down.”

Though he whined miserably, Cas nodded his head, rising to his elbows and watching Daryl with such intensity he flushed a bright red. Ducking his head once more, he took Castiel back into his mouth with a satisfied groan as his index finger circled Cas’ entrance, pressing in gently and whimpering around his cock as his finger was swallowed by that tight heat.

Daryl worked him open slowly, bobbing his head in time with each stretch and curl of his fingers, running his free hand in soothing circles across his hip and drinking in every muffled sound that broke free from Castiel’s lips. He had thrown himself back against the floor, his eyes clenched shut and the sleeping bag gathered in his fist, pressed tightly to his lips to stifle the noises he couldn’t contain. His hips twitched, torn between bearing down on Daryl’s fingers and thrusting upwards into his mouth, and Daryl could feel his feet slipping along his side, his toes curling against his ribs as his back arched sharply.

“Please, Daryl I can’t—” Cas cut off with a groan, throwing his head back against the floor none too gently, his hands grasping at Daryl’s shoulders, when his fingers slid across the raised edge of a deep and mottled scar.

As if he were just doused with ice water, Daryl froze instantly, three fingers stilling inside of Cas and he pulled his mouth off him with a wet pop.

He hadn’t even thought, not even for a moment that Castiel could see his back. It was obvious to him now, of course he could see: he was lying sprawled in his lap, his shirt off, the lantern still lit, there was no way in hell he couldn’t. But he hadn’t given it a second thought when Cas had pulled his shirt down his shoulders, just desperate to feel his hands splayed against his naked chest. Daryl didn’t think about his back.

He stared at the ground just to the right of Castiel’s hip, pulling his fingers free of his body and wiping them absently against the sleeping bag. What did he do now he wondered, not realizing that Cas was already folding himself in half, leaning over him until he felt his lips connect with one of his scars.

His fingers dug divots into Castiel’s hips, his muscles tensed and he found he couldn’t move as Castiel pressed a small, chaste kiss to the thick scar that ran parallel to his shoulder. He didn’t breathe when Cas cupped the sides of his face, lifting him so they sat eye to eye, Daryl leaning forwards on his hands and Castiel’s legs wrapped around his waist.

“You’re perfect.” Cas whispered against his lips, his cheeks flushed a bright red and his hair mussed in every direction, but the sincerity in his voice made Daryl choke on his next breath.

Surging forward, he flipped their positions, sliding to sit up against the wall with Castiel straddling his lap. Lube in hand he slicked his cock, with no time to catch his breath before Cas was sliding down onto him, painfully slow, his thighs shuddering under the monumental effort. Daryl gripped his hips tightly, capturing Cas’ lips and kissing him deep, coaxing his tongue to slide against his own as he bottomed out inside of him.

Daryl broke away with a soft cry, his forehead resting heavily against Castiel’s chest and his eyes clenched tight as he breathed through the onslaught of unabating pleasure. He wound his arms tightly around Cas’ waist, burying his face against his chest and pulled him as close as he could manage, grumbling when his cheek rasped against the fabric of his shirt instead of soft, warm skin. Hands sliding frantically down Castiel’s sides, he made short work of the offending garment, gathering it up his torso and sliding into over his head, Cas tearing it off his arms and tossing it off to the side. Daryl thrust up shallowly as he wrapped Cas in his arms once more, relishing in the feel of him warm and alive, panting helplessly as he began to rock his hips down to meet Daryl’s.

“Don’t say that shit, man,” he whispered against Castiel’s throat, blooming red just underneath the surface as Daryl’s stubble roughened cheek scuffed against his sensitive skin, his hands clinging to the height of Cas’ shoulders, and towing him down as Daryl drove into him, “you don’t even know the half of it, you can’t know—”

“I do.” Cas said softly, his voice surprisingly even as he pushed down on the crook of Daryl’s elbows, sliding his hands down his back until they came to rest on his shoulder blades, his palms cupping the cavernous depressions of his scars, mottled and raised like his own, dipping in the middle where his wings might have protruded from his back. Cas lifted onto his knees, sliding up Daryl’s length and coming to a halt at the top of a long, slow slide, thighs trembling as the man beneath him panted and whined, “Does this change how you see me? These scars?”

Shaking his head earnestly, Daryl cracked his eyes open, his forehead resting against Castiel’s as he looked up into his fierce, loaded gaze. “No, of course not.” Daryl groaned, digging his fingers into Cas’ shoulder blades, bucking upwards shudderingly but it was no use. Castiel held himself just out of reach, circling his hips and clenching teasingly around the head of his cock but no more, and Daryl scrabbled at his back, sobbing with the desire to plunge into his taut, smoldering body, “Cas, please!”

Castiel dropped down, letting his knees slide from underneath him and impaling himself in one slick dive, quivering beneath Daryl’s palms. He clung to Daryl’s arms tightly, mouth hovering just above his as he began to ride him slowly, rocking his hips as he writhed in Daryl’s lap, gasping. “T-then yours don’t change how I see you—ah!” He threw his head back as Daryl thrust up particularly deep, groaning loudly before he and Daryl both clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle him.

“You’re so fucking loud.” Daryl chuckled, moving their stacked hands and kissing Castiel fiercely.

“Sorry,” Cas murmured with a bashful grin, and Daryl was absolutely baffled by his ability to look so demure with a dick up his ass, but he didn’t have much time to ruminate on it before Castiel was pulling his face into his neck, kissing along the curve of his ear, “but I’m not wrong. I love you, and no number of skeletons in your closet is going to change that.”

With two quick huffs Daryl gripped him tight, lurching forward and laying Castiel out on his back, shoulders squeaking across the bare linoleum floor. He’d had more than enough words for one night, and as he pressed his face into Cas’ neck, muscles shuddering under his skin, he allowed himself to relish in the intimate, red-hot tightness of Castiel’s body, gripping him firm and drawing him deeper. Daryl breathed heavily, inhaling Cas’ earthy, familiar scent, kissing gently up his sweat dappled skin as he hooked Cas’ legs around his hips. His knees knocked against Daryl’s shoulders as he began to move once more, the quiet hitch of Castiel’s breath and his keening whimpers spurring him on.

Warm and pliant as he always was, Daryl pulled back to watch him, captivated as Castiel arched beneath him, panting and writhing, his fingers tangled in Daryl’s hair. Every shift of his legs and cant of his hips was perfection, his body yielding to every plunge, malleable around every aching drag and push as Daryl fucked him deeply. Castiel’s breathing hitched and he covered his mouth with the back of his fist, unable to contain the long, anguished moan that broke free as Daryl slammed into his prostate, and he slid his arm under Cas’ back to keep him right there, no longer thrusting but churning his hips, deep and slow, lost to the feeling of Castiel’s nail dragging along his scalp, every clench and shudder around his cock.

With a grunt of surprise, he found himself pulled forward, lips and teeth clashing as Castiel mashed their mouths together gracelessly, his arms winding around Daryl’s shoulders, legs tensing and his back bowing off of the floor. Cas sobbed fervently against his lips, muffling his cries as his orgasm crashed over him, his mouth slack and eyes clenched shut. The sight of him flying to pieces, arms quivering as they held him close was enough to send Daryl over the edge, and with a guttural moan his hips stuttered and stopped, grinding against him as he came, Castiel kissing him through it.

He barely had the presence of mind not to crush Cas as he flopped down on top of him, holding himself up with only his elbows on either side of Castiel’s head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath. He heard Cas chuckle as he turned his head, sliding their lips together languidly, his limbs soft and lax as they pressed against each other in their afterglow. His legs slipped down Daryl’s back eventually, and as his feet fell weightily to the floor Castiel hissed, gritting his teeth in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asked, eyes narrowing in concern as he lifted himself, taking his weight off of Cas completely and pulling out, wincing at Castiel’s resulting groan.

“No, don’t go.” Cas said dolefully as he reached out to him, tugging his arms in a weak attempt to pull him back down, “I’m fine, it’s just my feet. They’ve been sore for days now, all this walking and driving, the lack of sleep I guess. They hurt. But that doesn’t mean you have to go anywhere.”

Castiel’s eyes were barely open, his whole body flushed and he had a doofy little grin on his face, and with an affectionate chuckle Daryl shook his head, wrapping his arms around Cas’ shoulders and hauling him into a sitting position. “I’m not going.” Daryl reassured him, leading him back to their nest of sleeping bags and laying him down, smiling as Cas fell into it bonelessly, “I’m not, I promise. But you’re a mess, and I’m not lettin’ you fall asleep on the bare floor.”

“You’re just as big a mess as I am.” Cas protested weakly, shifting on his back and grimacing as he spread his thighs, knees falling apart when he sunk backwards. His cheeks burned an almost impossible red, and he looked apologetically up at Daryl, “Okay, maybe not. And I might have just ruined your sleeping bag.”

“Whatever man, I put you there, I knew the risks.” Pulling up his jeans, Daryl went about the room, gathering Castiel’s clothes and handing them back to him piece by piece, sorting out the utter mess they had made. It occurred to him with a brief surge of glee that this was the second chapel they had sex in, thinking they might have inadvertently come up with a new tradition when he heard Cas clear his throat. He was still slumped against the sleeping bags, but had managed to clean himself up a bit, his tee shirt and boxers then in place, and his hand outstretched towards Daryl, gesturing for him to hand over his jeans which were still clutched in his fist.

Daryl had other plans though, and after meeting the others gaze head on, he let the jeans fall to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked warily, sliding himself further against the wall, eyeing the predatory look on Daryl’s face with suspicion. He gasped when Daryl sat down opposite him, reaching out and grabbing one of his feet.

“Sit still, and don’t you dare kick me.” Daryl commanded, before pressing a kiss to his big toe and digging his thumb into the arch of Castiel’s foot.

“Oh, fuck…” Cas tossed his head back and groaned, his brow furrowing as Daryl swept his thumb over the ball of his foot, dragging it back down his arch before rubbing the butt of his palm firmly against Cas’ heel, “Seriously, what are you _doing_?”

“Does it feel good?” He knew the answer, he could see it in the look of unabashed shock on Castiel’s face, but Daryl asked anyways, taking one of his toes and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes,” Cas hissed, clenching his jaw as his eyes slipped shut, “It feels amazing, what—”

“It’s a foot rub Cas, you said your feet hurt.” Sliding up against the wall beside him, Daryl urged Cas to bend his knee and lay his foot in his lap, still massaging the heel of his foot with a firm grip, “All those years watching humanity, and you’ve never seen a foot rub before?”

“I-I saw Mary Magdalene anoint Christ’s feet,” Castiel sighed, turning sideways against the wall and stretching out, his knee falling loosely against the wall as he watched Daryl’s fingers work over his aching foot with a look of reverence, “but that was more for ceremony than it was relief. Though I don’t doubt his feet ached horribly, Nazareth was especially rocky at that period in time, and he never wore shoes.”

Daryl huffed a dubious laugh, “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to that. I can rationalize that you were an angel, I can understand that you are much, much older than you appear, but when you talk about shit like Jesus’ choice of footwear, and I _know_ that you’re tellin’ the truth? That you actually saw what he did or didn’t wear on his fucking feet, man…” He breathed deep, shaking his head with a smile, switching to Castiel’s other foot and digging in just as deep as he did with the first, much to Cas’ delight, “It just rattles my brain.”

“I’m trying not to bring it up as much,” Cas breathed, his face a picture of pure bliss as Daryl massaged his sore feet, “because I don’t want to overwhelm you. You amaze me, all the time with your ability to recognize the existence of things outside of your perception of reality, your acceptance of the supernatural is just outstanding. Honestly, I have never met another human who is as open minded and receptive as you, and I don’t want to push you too far without realizing it.” He leaned his head against the wall, groaning softly as Daryl rubbed up his ankle, digging his thumbs into Castiel’s calves, “But it’s so nice, to have someone with whom I can speak freely. Who I can talk to about… who I was. Someone who can understand. I may not be an angel anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was one for almost all of my life. And I can’t just forget all that I’ve lived either.”

“You never have to worry ‘bout that.” Daryl said, lifting his eyes from his task and catching Cas’ gaze, “I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to choose your words with me, and I want to be someone you can say anything to. I know what it’s like, remember? To have no one to turn to? ‘Sides, I have the chance to get the inside scoop on all of human history. Please, keep the stories coming. They may blow my mind, but that ain’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“Thank you.” Cas spoke softly, smiling as Daryl pressed one last kiss to the arch of his foot before letting him go. He moved in silence, laying on his side on the floor, head on his pillow and sleeping bag pulled up to his shoulder. With a questioning look, Cas’ tugged on his hand, beckoning Daryl to join him.

“Are you sure?” Daryl asked hesitantly, “Cause I can set up in a different room if—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Castiel said, leaving no room for argument as he tugged harder at his fingers, and Daryl had no choice but to lay next to him, curling underneath the sleeping bag and grinning despite himself as Cas turned, backing into him, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Daryl only nodded in response, clicking the lantern off and pulling Castiel into his arms once more. Back to front, he hooked his chin over Cas’ shoulder, his limbs warm and heavy with exhaustion, but his mind still running, as per usual. “Do you think this was a mistake?” He asked quietly, half hoping Castiel was already asleep somehow, or that he missed it.

He could tell by his sharp intake of breath that he heard him loud and clear however, and after a brief pause he tilted his head, watching Daryl over his shoulder with pitch dark eyes. “No,” Cas said softly, placing his arms over Daryl’s where they lay wrapped around his waist, pressing his bare back firmly against his chest, “with you, it’s never a mistake. We don’t seem to have a great, collective reserve of willpower, but it wasn’t a mistake. I don’t think I’ll ever stop needing you Daryl. Especially if you keep bringing me cat clocks.”

He laughed despite himself, kissing Castiel sweetly on the lips and feeling him smile against them, “I’ll have to keep my eye open for more then, if this is the thanks I get.

“Didn’t you say T-Dog helped you find it?”

“Yeah, you can just use your words with him, thank you very much.” Daryl groused, his arms tightening possessively around Castiel’s waist and he relished in the bright laugh he coaxed from the man in his arms.

Daryl buried his face against his shoulder, breathing him in and soaking up his warmth, having missed the feel of Cas’ body pressed so close to his own. He missed the feel of him under his hands, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He missed the smell of his skin, his hair, and the taste of him on his tongue. He missed the low rumble of his voice, and he missed his giddy, musical laugh. He missed him so much, that even though he held him now, the knowledge that they would have to part ached deep in his chest. He wished he were different, for the hundredth time since he first met Cas, he wished he were a stronger person. Less scars, less demons and capable of being with him in the light of day.

“Please don’t go.” Castiel asked as if he read his mind, his voice low and somber as he turned in Daryl’s arms, curling his fingers in the thin wisps of hair at the nape of Daryl’s neck, “Daryl, you have to know that I wouldn’t trade what happened tonight for anything. And I know that by morning you’re going to be gone, but please, don’t leave tonight.”

“I won’t, but—”

“Please,” Cas cut him off imploringly, trailing his thumb along the curve of Daryl’s cheekbone, “I know I’m being contradictory, but I know that I needed this. I needed you, and I think you needed me too. So please, can we just have this, just for tonight?”

“I don’t want it to just be tonight.” Turning to nuzzle at Castiel’s palm, Daryl pressed his lips to the tips of his fingers, closing his eyes tight as his stomach churned uncomfortably, grief slowly poisoning the afterglow of their time together. “I don’t want to be without you.” He said, plain and honest, “I don’t want to let you go Castiel, but I can’t... I’m so in love with you.”

“I know.” Cas breathed, taking his head in his hands and kissing him deeply, their noses brushing together as they parted, “I know, I don’t want to either. Daryl please, if you have to leave me in the morning do it then. But for tonight, please stay with me.”

His head ached and his heart pounded, exhaustion tugging at the corners of his consciousness and he couldn’t find the strength to argue. He felt heavy and raw, like a nerve flayed open, burning at the feel of the open air, and Castiel was too real underneath his palms. He didn’t want to fight, debate or argue. He didn’t want to talk anymore at all. Rolling Cas back over, he curled around his back once more, pressing one last kiss to his temple before burying his face between his shoulder blades and closing his eyes. A murmured goodnight was all it took for Castiel to relax in his arms, falling weightlessly into him, his breathing slowing almost instantly as he fell into a long desired sleep, and though Daryl needed it as much as he did, he had to fight for it. Because he didn’t want to miss this for a second.

He didn’t know when he would ever have it back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtTvIMhrZS4&t=620s


	18. I-85

The sound of the RV hissing and sputtering was just the tipping point of what was probably going to be a very long, horribly tiring day, and Castiel assumed Daryl shared his sentiment, hearing him groan in frustration as he pulled the bike to a stop. They had been on the road for only a few hours, having left the seniors home early that morning, and every one of them was itching to make some progress. The trip thus far had been fairly productive: clear roads and enough fuel to get them clear of Atlanta. They had ditched some of the cars too, taking only the Impala, the RV and Merle’s bike, which Daryl had to convince him to get on the back of. Cas was the only one he was willing to ride with, and since they needed the Impala for the kids, he had relented with no small amount of trepidation.

His leg still ached from the last time he was tossed off of it.

But, true to his word (“Cas, I can’t promise you we ain’t going to run into any hoards of geeks, but I _can_ promise to go slower this time”) Daryl had made the trip so far as comfortable as he could, taking his turns smoother and not speeding along like they had on the I-75. It was kind of nice, he had to admit, to be able to wrap himself around Daryl without any pretense, and it wasn’t nearly as humid out as it was on their trip to Chattanooga. In fact, it was the perfect temperature, sunny and warm without the overbearing heat, the seasons slowly shifting from a scorching summer to a comfortable fall. 

The bike rolled to a stop, and Cas let his left foot fall to the tarmac below as Daryl cut the engine. The RV picked a hell of a place to kick it, he thought to himself, scanning the gridlocked highway sprawled out in front of them. There were cars and trucks absolutely everywhere, scattered about in various levels of disarray, stocked with random supplies and rotting corpses. They got lucky, if the engine had given out only twenty minutes earlier they would have been on an abandoned stretch of road with no aid in sight. At least here, they almost certainly could find the replacement hose Castiel could hear Dale griping about.

“Looks like we’re sticking around for a while.” Daryl mumbled, stepping off the bike and holding out his hand to Cas without a second thought, helping him off the back, “Might be worth it to check out some of these cars. Could be food, water, and other shit we may need.”

“That’s not a bad plan.” Cas agreed with a nod, quickly scanning the rest of the group to see if they had the same idea, “We should stay close though.” He added, tailing after Daryl past the trailer of a large truck, stooping to look through a few car windows on the way, “In case we get caught by Croats, I wouldn’t want to be too scattered.”

Rounding the trailer, he managed to suppress and ungainly yelp as he found himself hauled forward by the front of his shirt. His hands flew up to wrap around Daryl’s wrists as he was then shoved backwards against the trailer door, Daryl’s fingers carding through his hair as he caged Cas between his arms. Smiling, Castiel let himself be moved and manipulated, spreading his thighs reflexively as Daryl slotted their legs together, pinning Cas with the weight of his own body as he kissed him firm and dirty.

And when Daryl finally came up for air, he left Castiel panting, half-hard despite their precarious situation and incredibly perplexed. “What was that for?” Cas asked heatedly, fingers skimming along the familiar lines of Daryl’s cheek. He glanced around, noticing that Daryl hadn't completely lost his mind: the trailer he was pressed up against was sandwiched in between two others, a minivan and a station wagon, effectively blocking them off from all four sides and cutting their line of sight down the highway. For anyone to see them, they would have to walk up to the side of the trailer and loop around, or peek over the top of the minivan. Relieved to know they wouldn't be interrupted or seen, Castiel relaxed back against the truck, gripping Daryl's arms firmly as he moved in for another kiss. 

“Sneaking off this mornin' without saying goodbye,” Daryl reprimanded, nipping at his lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, and Castiel groaned against him, “then having me drive for three hours with you pressed up against my back, not able to do nothin’ about it. Fuck, it was hard enough the first time I had you ridin’ bitch, and we weren’t even together then.”

“I know.” Cas said softly, kissing him in apology and running his hands down the firm muscles of Daryl’s arms, inhaling the heady scent of his sun warmed skin, “I had to take over watch, and you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Always wake me.” Growling against his lips, Daryl bucked his hips forward and arousal flared through Cas at his intensity, “Always, I don’t care if it’s the first time I’ve slept all week. God Cas, what have you done to me?” It was said with a wry smile, and Castiel melted against the trailer, delighting in the feel of Daryl’s hands on the suddenly too hot skin of his arms, “I forgot how hard it is to be around you without being able to touch you.”

"You know, we're supposed to be looking for supplies- ah!" Cas gasped, arching his neck to the side as Daryl nipped at his throat, sucking and worrying over the same patch of skin, sure to leave a mark, "Anyone can see us, Daryl, we're completely out in the open."

"Then lets get out of the open." As if it were the most obvious answer in the world, Daryl pulled back, smoothing out Castiel's shirt with an impish grin. He seemed to remember himself a bit, taking a hasty look around to make sure they weren't being watched before reaching forward and trailing his knuckles along the inside of Cas' thigh, just barely grazing the obvious erection straining at his jeans, "By the sounds of Dale's cursing we're goin' to be out here a while still, and I don't know about you but I had _plans_ for this mornin'."

Cas bit his lip to keep from crying out as Daryl stroked him through the unfortunate layer of denim, his brows knotting together and eyes glazing as he struggled to stay quiet. "What kind of plans?" He breathed, grabbing Daryl's wrist none too gently, holding him still and grinding into his palm. 

"'Wake you up with your cock in my mouth' plans." Daryl whispered, leaning forward and licking a line up his neck to his earlobe, before rolling it between his teeth, "'Swallow you down and let you shoot down my throat' plans."

“Oh screw it.” Castiel said suddenly, turning his head with a wanton sound and catching Daryl’s lips with his own, coaxing them open and exploring his mouth with his tongue. It was filthy, all raw need and heat, and he heard Daryl sob against his lips, his hands slipping down the back of Cas' jeans to firmly cup his ass. “So, woods or in here?” Cas asked with a smirk as he broke away, giving the truck two affectionate pats.

Daryl opened his mouth to respond, but before he could he seemed to catch sight of something off to the left of the truck, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Cas, get down!” he hissed, and it was a command not a request, no hesitation in his voice as he whipped his crossbow off his shoulder and into his hands, loading the first bolt as quietly as he could and crouching down onto the ground.

Curious though he was, Cas did as he was told and dropped into a squat, peeking around the corner and gasping as he saw a herd of Croats making their way down the highway. It was nowhere near as large as the one in Chattanooga, but it was nothing to bat an eye at either, and he sobered instantly, pulling his knives from their holsters and gripping them firm.

“I’m goin’ to loop around to Shane and Glenn, make sure they see it.” Daryl whispered, tugging on Castiel’s arm to lead him further behind cover, “Stay here, stay out of sight and stay safe, got it?”

“No way, I’m not just going to hide here!” Cas said, yanking his arm out of Daryl’s grip with an indignant expression, “Lori and Carol are just down the road and they’re on their own, I’m going to make sure they’re okay.”

Daryl took a breath, looking like he was going to argue for a moment, but as he exhaled he seemed to think better of it. With a shake of his head, he gripped the base of Cas’ neck firmly and pulled him forward, kissing him quick and knocking their foreheads together as he pulled away. He didn’t say anything more, just stared Castiel in the eye before letting him go and darting around a station wagon to their left, but the message in his expression read loud in clear. Same as it always was when they were tossed from normal to dire in the blink of an eye.

Be safe, and don’t you dare die.

Leaping into action, Castiel kept low to the ground as he moved quickly across the highway, darting through cars until he made it to the shoulder. He could see Rick up ahead, ushering Carol and Lori under cars, and he could only assume that the kids were with them. The Croats behind them were fast approaching, and Cas ducked underneath an old minivan as the first of them emerged, groaning, from behind the truck he was just pressed up against.

He cursed under his breath, seeing Sophia and Carl six or seven cars ahead of him, on their own and terrified. He caught sight of Carol and Lori huddled together in the next lane, and Rick right beside them, but they were still all spread out. If one of them got ambushed, there would be no way to get to them without attracting the whole herd.

One set of shambling feet soon turned into twenty, and the previously silent highway was now a cacophonous racket of undead moans and footfalls. Castiel flexed his fingers around the hilt of his blades, laid out flat on his stomach with his arms curled in front of him, and he forced himself to take a calming breath. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could see the movement of Croats on either side of him in his peripherals, but he never took his eyes off of the people in front of him, darting between Carol and Lori, to Carl and Sofia.

Seeing a gap in the line of Croats, Castiel crawled on his belly, shuffling out from beneath the van and under the compact in front of it. He heard more than he saw a Croat stop at the sound of him moving, and he clenched his eyes shut, breathing quietly through his nose as he willed it away, begging for it to start walking again. He could hear it sniffing the air, heard the sound of its limp, dead arm smacking against the side of the car as it moved closer, and he opened his eyes, tensely watching as it stood there, swaying. Waiting for him to slip up and make a sound.

As it moved on, its interest drawn with that of the herd, Castiel released a weighty breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He kept up his steady advance, waiting for a break in the line before shuffling forward to the next car, pausing only as long as he needed to avoid arousing the suspicions of the wandering Croats. He was two cars away from Carl and Sophia when he heard a hiss from his left hand side, turning to see Rick staring right at him, jaw set firm and motioning for him to stay still with an open palm.

Gesturing at the kids with his blade and an incredulous expression, Cas motioned to move forward once another pair of feet, bare and road worn, stumbled past. Rick held his gaze though, and he was not messing around. The look in his eye was one of severity, one that told Castiel if he didn’t heed Rick’s warning, there would be hell to pay if they survived this, and to his surprise he backed down, flattening himself to the ground and giving Rick a somber nod.

It was odd. He was never one to do as he was told, not completely anyways, not even when he was an angel. He was the wildcard, quiet and forgettable until blades were flying and order was imperative. He didn’t mean to cause problems, his whole life he had longed to be able to blindly follow his superiors, to not have this aching, nagging need to think for himself, draw his own conclusions and make his own decisions. He got his garrison into more trouble than they needed to be, but in the end he always got them out. And if he didn’t agree with his superiors orders, he couldn’t just follow them at the risk of compromising his morals. The only reason he was ever allowed to take on missions in the first place was because he was the one of the best fighters and strategists Heaven had to offer from the Lower Order. It was the only reason he was sent to the Pit to retrieve Dean in the first place, and the only reason he was sent to earth after the fact.

But it appeared Rick could halt him with a pointed glance.

With a collective breath, he saw the group relax as the last of the Croats passed by, waiting tentatively for Rick to give them the okay, to let them know they could move from under the cars when Sophia cried out in shock. Cursing mutely, Castiel watched as she squirmed out from beneath a car, cowering away from the hands of a wayward Croat and clutching her little yellow doll to her chest. She kicked out her feet one by one, shuffling along on her back and pushing onto the shoulder of the highway, and without a second thought or a spared glace Cas threw himself out onto the street, rolling onto his hands and knees and running towards her at a breakneck speed.

Terrified, Sophia raced towards the barricade, slipping underneath it as the Croat stumbled towards her, another approaching from the south and flanking her along the hill. Out of the corner of his eye Castiel saw Rick hop the barricade, following hot on her trail as she stumbled into the woods, and with a deep breath Cas stepped one foot onto the metal railing, leaping off of it and tackling one of the tailing Croats to the ground.

He coiled his arms around the corpse’s shoulders, meaning to shove it to the dirt underneath him so he could take it out with a knife to the temple, but he didn’t make allowances for the hill it was faltering down. Off balance and at an awkward angle, they hit the ground alright, but kept on going, rolling down the ditch to the treeline, the Croat pinning Castiel and knocking both of his blades out of his hands, sending them flying out of eye shot and leaving him trapped as well as unarmed.

Caught between the soft, muddy ground and a writhing corpse, Cas panted heavily, trying to work some air into his lungs as he felt panic edging into the corners of his vision. He had nothing to defend himself with, nothing but his bare hands and the Croat on top of him was quickly righting itself, its deceptively strong, grabbing fingers reaching for his face, catching at his chin as he jammed his left forearm underneath its jaw. With a sobbing gasp, Castiel heaved upwards with his arm, managing to push it off of him momentarily, so he could clutch at the front of its wet, bloodstained shirt with his other hand and buy him some room to move. He miscalculated the distance however, and his hand slipped across its chest, pinned uselessly against his body as the full weight of the Croat crashed down on top of him once more. It surged forwards as it fell, and Castiel only just managed to push it up with his arm against its throat, crying out in alarm as he felt its rotting lips skirt his cheek, its gnashing teeth almost sinking into his flesh.

He looked about frantically, trying to find something he could use as a weapon when the Croat was lifted bodily off of him, and a crossbow bolt burst through its eye socket, stilling its jerky limbs. Daryl dropped it to the side, his bolt still embedded through the back of its skull as he dropped to his knees in front of Cas, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him up into a seated position.

“What the hell is the matter with you!?” He hissed through his teeth, his grip on Cas’ upper arms almost bruising in its ferocity, but Cas could feel the way his hands trembled even still.

"Sophia! I have to go after her, she's going to get lost!" Castiel struggled out of Daryl's grip, looking side to side for his knives and lurching towards his angel blade when Daryl grabbed him by his wrist, turning him to face him.

“Rick is on her, won’t do no good to have all of us scattered through the woods, getting’ ourselves lost too.” Daryl handed him his hunting knife, but refused to let go of his wrist, "Come up to the highway with me."

"No, Sophia is—"

With a click of his tongue Daryl took to his feet, pulling Castiel with him and dragging them both into the woods, past the treeline and out of sight of the road.

“Wait, wait I need my other knife…” Cas protested weakly, but he could tell by the unerring grip Daryl had on him they weren’t going after Sophia, they were just going somewhere private, “Daryl, she’s a little girl, we have to go after her.”

Daryl answered him with silence as he took a quick look around, checking for any passing Croats before letting go of Castiel’s arm and clutching his chin instead. With a sure hand, he tilted Cas’ head from side to side, scanning his neck and face before tugging the collar of his shirt aside, lifting his sleeves and the hem in rapid succession. He turned Cas and pushed him lightly towards one of the trees, and despite Castiel’s half-hearted objections, he rucked his shirt up, examining the planes of his back before sighing in obvious relief and giving him a firm pat on the ass.

“So I’m free to go, officer?” Castiel said glibly as he turned around, leaning back against the tree and studying Daryl with a raised brow, “I could have told you I wasn’t bitten.”

“Yeah, well you coulda been scratched and not noticed. Or you could have hurt yourself in that fall, dumb ass.” Daryl spoke pointedly, but there was no malice in his voice, “You always do this, Cas. You always play the fucking hero, but you don’t _think_. You’re not superman anymore, you’re just one of us. You have to be careful!”

“She’s twelve, and she’s terrified!” Cas countered, stepping forward off of the tree with his fists balled at his sides, “There were two Croats on her, I couldn’t just do nothing, I had to try and help her!”

“And a lot of help you would have been if you got yourself killed, or worse!” Daryl didn’t back down, instead giving as good as he got, standing chest to chest with Castiel and gesturing out into the woods, “She’s still out there anyways, what good did your stunt actually do her?”

With a heavy sigh, Daryl lifted his hands to Cas’ shoulders, fingers digging in tight and he ran a thumb along Castiel’s collarbone, “I know you have to try. All I’m asking is that maybe, every once in a while, you spare a thought for your own safety. And stop throwing yourself headfirst into danger every time it pops up, for Gods sake.”

“Daryl, I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah, well you were this close to being _not_ fine.”

“Hey.” Castiel’s expression softened, and he purposefully wrapped his arms around Daryl’s stiff form, pulling him into a decidedly awkward hug, with Daryl’s arms trapped between them as he gripped Cas’ shoulders, “Mi dispiace. It was stupid, and if it weren’t for you jumping to my rescue, again, I might have died. But you can’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.” He spoke plainly, hooking his chin over Daryl’s shoulder and felt him relax against him, Daryl’s hands gliding down his sides and twining around his waist, “I’m always going to help these people, there’s no getting around that. But I do promise to be less headstrong in the future. Jumping downhill and expecting to land on my feet was probably not the smartest combat strategy I’ve ever come up with, I’ll give you that. So, thank you, for saving me again.”

“I’m not always goin’ to be there to do it.” Daryl said softly, kissing Castiel’s cheek before pulling away, “So smarten up.”

“Duly noted.”

Collecting his knife on the way back to the road, Cas let Daryl go on ahead, watching his retreating form with belated amusement as he hiked up the hill. He hadn’t noticed the vest Daryl was wearing before, being pressed chest to back against him while they were driving, and more focused on the road than anything else, but in the evening light, he smiled to see there was a set of wings emblazoned on the back. They were old, the vest a worn thing that had seen too many days without a wash, but they were clearly wings, and such a striking simile Cas couldn’t help but chuckle. It figured he would find himself fallen, wingless, and taken in by a man who wore fake ones on his back.

As the day rolled on, it was easy to stave off his feelings of panic and guilt when the sun was up, and they were actively looking through the woods. Castiel had gone back with Daryl, Rick and Shane to the place Rick had left Sophia, only to find she had taken off through the forest, presumably on her way back to the road. She got sidetracked, as Daryl had discovered by following her tracks, and had veered off course but they still had a trail when Cas and Shane went back to the road, under orders to keep the group busy.

When Rick and Daryl emerged later as the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, covered in blood and viscera, it was a little harder to ignore the creeping feeling of dread that ran through him, seeping into his veins like ice water. They would pick up the trail in the morning, Rick had told a bereaved Carol, who was clinging to Lori’s side and hysterical at the thought of her baby girl, lost in the woods with monsters all night long. She couldn’t have gotten far, Daryl had tried to reassure her, and there was no way to look for her in the dark. It was harder, but it was manageable, and Castiel busied himself with taking care of Carl, distracting him with searching through cars and catching bugs so his mother could console Carol and his father could formulate a plan.

But it was impossible to ignore how horrid he felt and the weight of his blame that night, sitting against the RV in the pitch blackness of the highway. A cigarette burned to nothing between his fingers as he listened to Carol sob herself to sleep in the camper, a whining and pitiful cry, a child’s cry. Bawling her grief and her failure to a silent audience, all of them awake but no one daring to move, or even attempting to console her. There was nothing they could say, and nothing to be done. Rick had spoken, Daryl was right, and they would have to wait until morning.

As he sat chain smoking in the dark, Castiel ran through the day in his mind, over and over. If he hadn’t listened to Rick, if he had just done what he thought was best and moved up two more cars, he would have gotten to her in time, he knew it. He would have been able to take out both Croats on even ground, and Sophia would be curled up next to her mother instead of lost in the woods, frightened and being hunted, or already dead. He should have trusted his gut. He always had before, why did he hesitate then?

He had so much doubt now that he had fallen. What used to seem so clear him, so righteous had changed the instant Sam said yes to Lucifer, when they rolled out the red carpet for the devil and his foretold apocalypse. That’s not to say he never had doubts before… they were just never about his actions. He had always doubted his fathers teachings, and his sibling’s unquestioning faith. He had doubted the scripture and his superior’s orders. He had doubted Michael’s every word, and he doubted Lucifer’s supposed wrongs. But he never once doubted his convictions. Every choice he landed on was wholeheartedly correct, complete and unerring fact. 

After he fell though, the uncertainty he had always known was suddenly centered on him. No matter what he thought, or what he decided to do, he second guessed it. The relationship between him and Daryl was a perfect example: He thought he was doing the right thing, that the healthiest and safest thing for them was to be apart. To keep their relationship purely platonic. But all it took was a simple gift, or a look, and that sense of foreboding was back. The nagging feeling that he made a mistake, that they could never be better off apart. Sooner or later that feeling would eat him up, and they would end up how they were now, having gone through meaningless hell and no better for it. Still wrapped up in each other and wholly in love, but having solved nothing.

With the introduction of emotions, it seemed that all trust in his ability to make a rational decision went out the window, and he couldn't help but wonder if that was just him, or if it was a human thing he had never had explained to him. He never had this problem when he was an angel, because no matter what he chose he was resolute. It was in his nature to be singularly focused, it just so happened that most of the time his focus was directed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be, if his siblings had anything to say about it. Everything he did was grand, so huge that he didn’t have time for reservations. And he was immortal, unknowable and powerful, so the consequences to his self never daunted him.

But now he was mortal, and everything he said and did mattered more than it ever had before. His words had a deep, profound impact on himself and those around him, and his actions had immediate and usually dire consequences. There was so much to think about, so many lives in his hands as there always were, but coupled now with his own.

And though he had always cared for humanity, it used to be a distant love. He didn’t know the humans he sought to protect personally, aside from the Winchester’s and he certainly was not capable of loving them in such a base and ordinary way. The people in this group though? He loved them completely. He cared for each of them individually, not just as a sum of their mortal existence but as people totally divided in experiences and personality. He knew them all separately, differently. And that was what made him waver, what tested his faith in himself: it was knowing that every time he chose to do something on his own, and one of the people he cared for was hurt, lost or killed? That was on _him_.

It was easier to let Rick take the reigns, he realized. It was so much easier to follow as a human because he didn’t want the weight of that responsibility, he didn’t want to feel as it hovered over him, a constant charge looming over his shoulder. He could speak his mind, but at the end of the day he would just be following orders.

And yet, he had followed Rick that afternoon, and he was still drowning in guilt.

It did his head in.

He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps rounding the RV, loud and purposeful enough that there was no doubt the person they belonged to was trying to warn him of their approach. Tossing his burned-out smoke across the highway and lighting another, Castiel turned to his right to see Rick advancing on him, hands on his hips and gait strong. He meant business.

“Can I talk to you?” Rick asked, but before he got his answer he was already crouched down next to Cas, watching him with calm eyes as he took a drag of his cigarette, the embers flaring and lighting his face momentarily, before he was cast back into shadow. Cas gestured with an outstretched palm, urging him onward and waited for him to proceed.

“I made a bad call today,” He said curtly, looking at Castiel as if he could see him through the dark, “and you know it. I know you know it, because you tried to make the right one. You were going to go to those kids, I stopped you and now Sophia is gone. That’s on me.”

“But I wanted to say that if you ever think I’m making the wrong move? You need to tell me.” Taken aback by how blunt he was being, Castiel leaned sideways, putting some distance between them and getting a good look at Rick. He was hunched as he talked but he was fierce, crouched down like a cat ready to pounce, and the muscles in his neck were corded tightly with stress. And he looked so, so tired, “I didn’t ask to lead these people, and I don’t think I’m anywhere near qualified. But I know that they look to me, and I can’t let them down. I’m doing the best I can with what I have.”

“I know,” Castiel murmured, taking a long haul of his cigarette and regarding him coolly, “no one doubts that Rick. And I don’t think anyone would want to be in your shoes right now either.”

“I’m just one man.” He steamrolled on, ignoring Castiel’s platitudes, “And I’m used to being in dire situations, its what I did for a living, but I can’t be right one hundred percent of the time, and I make mistakes, same as always. Only now? When I make mistakes, folks die. Little girls go missing. Our people lose faith.”

Rick’s exterior cracked, just for a moment as he leaned back against the RV, and his face looked so pale in the dim. He scanned the highway, not moving his head, just his eyes, and with a heavy sigh he snapped back to it, turning to look at Cas once more, “I don’t know you from Adam, and I can’t say I trust you. I got Shane on one side telling me to watch out for you, and Lori on the other telling me you’re the best thing to happen to this group, but don’t go thinkin’ I’m stuck in the middle. I don’t trust you, because there are too many peculiarities, and unanswered questions that hang around you at every turn, do you understand that? I can’t trust you, because you have never, not once, been honest with me. Not really.”

Castiel nodded his acceptance, shrugging a shoulder as he turned back to the road.

“But aside from Shane and I, you are the only other person in this group with any combat capability. You don’t say it, but I can see it. You’re a soldier.” Rick waited for a rebuttal that never came, wiping sweat from his brow in the brief silence, “Better than anyone else, you know how to make a call. You know how important it is to be quick. You’ve seen ugliness like this before, and in that way, I have to at least trust your judgement, even if I don’t trust _you_. So, I need you to tell me right now, if you ever disagree with anything I’m saying, if you think I’m making the wrong play… you need to go with your gut, you got it?”

“Sure, but can I say something to that affect?” Castiel asked, curling his legs and leaning over them as they stared each other down. He didn’t wait for Rick’s answer before continuing, “You can’t let this group see you accept insubordination, from me or anyone else. If you want my advice, I will give it. If you want me to play situations by ear, I will… but if that’s the case, you can never give me a direct order. You don’t want them to see me break it. They need to see that you are a strong and capable leader. They can never see you fail. If they do, they’ll lose faith in you and everything will fall apart. It’ll be chaos.”

“Fair enough.” Rick conceded, standing up swiftly and holding out his hand to Cas, who only shook his head, “You should get some sleep. Its going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.” Cas said, smiling cordially up at him, “You know, you’re right in saying I was a soldier. I have been my whole life; it was the only life I had known until recently. And I was horrible at it, I never did as I was told. But through all of my faults, my garrison never turned their backs on me, and they always listened to what I had to say. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Rick leaned against the RV, his arms crossed and his jaw set firm.

“Because when push came to shove, I might not have done the correct thing, but I always did the _right_ thing.” As he spoke, it all seemed to click into place. His doubts and his anxieties seemed to make sense to him, and he inwardly thanked Rick for a conversation in which he didn’t expect to find clarity, but which ended up helping more than hours of ruminating on his own, “If it doesn’t feel right Rick, don’t do it. At the end of the day, these people are going to respect a man of integrity more than a man to whom the ends justify the means.”

They parted in silence, but it wasn’t the same as before. He felt lighter and bolstered, he felt it in his bones. As he pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the Impala, he knew that at least he wasn’t alone in his worry, his anxiety and stress for the safety of the group. If Rick wanted his help, he would gladly give it and if he needed to help Rick make some of the tough calls then he would do that too. They could split the bill, no one person taking on the weight of the world, and the relief he felt as he climbed into the backseat of the Impala next to Daryl was almost palpable.

Daryl was stretched out along the back bench, one leg bent at the knee with his foot flattened against the floor, and the other slumped against the back rest. He had one arm curled behind his head like a makeshift pillow, and the other slung across his eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he snored quietly, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. And as much as he hated to wake him up when he could actually manage to fall asleep, Castiel couldn’t help but shut the car door a little less than gently, Daryl jerking himself awake with an ungainly snort.

Sitting up against the passenger door, Daryl scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand, looking blearily at Castiel, still in a daze and half asleep to the point that when Cas leaned over and kissed him, he barely moved at all. He let himself be pressed against the door, let Cas straddle his thighs and cup the back of his head as he kissed him gently, nothing like the ferocious and needful kisses they had shared earlier, but quieter and more profound. Daryl’s mind eventually caught up with the rest of him, and Castiel sighed softly as he felt his hands lift up from his lap, sliding up his back and underneath his shirt, pressing into sweat-sticky skin.

“What was that for?” Daryl asked breathlessly as they broke apart, looking up at Castiel with a mix of worry and affection, his thumbs smoothing gently circles along his ribs.

“You’re the right thing, and I want to keep doing you.” Daryl snorted at Castiel’s declaration, sliding until he was laying down on the seat with Cas between his thighs, and his eyes slipped closed once more. Laying his head against Daryl’s chest, Cas yawned and fumbled blindly underneath the seat, yanking an old blanket out and haphazardly spreading it across their laps, “Rick also said he doesn’t trust me, but he asked for my help.”

“He told you that?” Daryl draped a heavy arm over Castiel’s shoulders, his other arm returning to its original position under his head, “Why?”

“He thinks I’m hiding something.”

“You are hiding something.”

His response was glib and completely truthful, and Castiel frowned in response. Crinkling his nose, he burrowed further into Daryl’s chest with an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, but I didn’t think he knew that.”

“What did you say?”

“I just agreed. It wouldn’t do any good to lie, and he didn’t push it. And then he asked for my help in making some of the tough calls, like today with Sophia.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, bobbing Daryl’s arm along with it, “He’s getting overwhelmed, and I don’t blame him. I couldn’t imagine how stressful it must be, all of these people completely depending on him… I wouldn't ever want to be in his shoes.”

“I think you could do it.” Daryl said succinctly, giving Cas a reprimanding pat on the shoulder when he snorted, unconvinced.

“Be serious.”

“I am, I think you could be great at it. You’re smart, you have billions of years’ worth of knowledge rattling around in that head of yours. You’re good with people, you’re empathetic, and you’re brave. You make folks trust you without you even having to try. Why do you think Rick and Shane are always looking for your input? They can tell you’re a natural leader.” As Daryl rattled off his list of justifications, Cas felt his face turn pink with delight. He was oftentimes so surprised by Daryl’s immediate, unfathomable confidence in him, and though he never would believe it himself, he couldn’t deny it was nice to hear. There had been so few times in his long life he had ever been the subject of praise, and he had never desired it as an angel. As a human though, it sparked a wonderful feeling of warmth and security that coiled deep in his chest, a comfort that soothed the burn he had felt at the loss of Sophia, at least for a moment.

But as soon as it came it was gone, and Castiel corrected him with a shake of his head, “Dean was a natural, not me. I was literally created to serve.”

“And you said it yourself, you were awful at it.” Daryl was persistent, adamant and Castiel relented as he felt himself pulled closer, Daryl’s strong hands guiding him up the length of his body, tucking his head in the crook of his neck, “Maybe you were never supposed to follow at all.”

“I think you’re delirious.”

“Might be, it’s been a long day and you did just wake me up to tell me you wanted to keep doin’ me.” He laughed as Cas firmly jabbed him in the ribs, smoothing it over with a kiss to his chin, “Could also be that you have this nasty habit of making me overly sentimental.”

“Don’t try blaming that on me,” Castiel said softly, “you’ve had the soul of a poet since the day we first met.”

“Even so, you’re the only one to ever bring it out.”

“Touché.”

They fell into an easy silence, Castiel playing with the buttons on Daryl’s shirt while Daryl carded his fingers through Cas’ hair, getting caught in and brushing out windswept tangles. The nights were growing colder, and the summer heat of their day on the road stuck to their skin in a sheen of tacky sweat, which chilled in the night air and prickled goosebumps along Cas’ arms. He shivered as he tugged the threadbare blanket further up their bodies, tucking it underneath his chin and wrapping it over Daryl’s bare arms. It hadn’t been used in years, a leftover relic of the Winchester’s life on the road, an emergency measure in case they couldn’t afford or find a motel to crash at. It smelled like gunpowder and old leather, and a heady mix of Dean and Sam that made Castiel’s heart ache terribly, that familiar twinge of nostalgia he couldn’t understand and never seemed to be rid of.

Tilting his head slightly, he inhaled deeply the scent of heat dappled skin, motor oil and trees as he burrowed against Daryl’s sunburned neck. He was grounding, the feel of him warm in Castiel’s hands, his pulse beating a rhythmic drum against his cheek and the soothing sound of his breathing in the silence of the car.

They were both filthy, the result of an agonizing afternoon spent hiking through the underbrush, wading in creeks and crawling along the forest floor on their hands and knees, desperate to pick up Sophia’s trail. Castiel felt the crunch of dried, encrusted mud splattered across Daryl’s sleeveless flannel shirt, and old blood as it flaked off of the curved ridge of his upper arm. Castiel's own face was marked in dirt and grime, blood smeared across his cheek from when the Croat had tried to take a bite out of him, but that didn’t seem to matter. The gore and the viscera, it felt normal, an inevitable reality of the new world they lived in, and it did nothing to keep them from clinging to one another as if they longed to share a single skin.

Their casual intimacy was intoxicating, something he had never felt before. It had never been like that with anyone else, where Cas could lay in their arms for thirty minutes straight, neither one of them saying a word, pulling away or pushing for more. It was addicting that he could sit and watch the stars in the sky through the windshield of the Impala, wrapped up in Daryl’s arms without any reason other than because he wanted to be close to him. To feel him alive and well, and to know that Daryl wanted to be there too.

His parting words to Rick echoed in his ears. Daryl felt right, and if he had learned anything that day, it was to trust his instincts.

Still, though Daryl’s presence was an insurmountable comfort, Cas felt the loss of Sophia all the same, like a knife in the gut only duller. Everything he saw and felt reminded him of that little girl. The stars in the sky made him wonder if she was ever taught how to read them, if she could orient herself by tracking their positions, like the children of Minoa used too all those aeons ago. The darkness of the road had him worrying she wouldn’t be able to see a threat coming, hoping she had the presence of mind to find a hiding place, even if it was just a tree, somewhere out of sight of animals and walkers. The chill of the air reminded him she had on only a thin tee shirt, and his eyes welled up as he realized how cold she must be, a skinny little thing with nowhere to hide from the night wind.

Hearing him sniff mutedly, Daryl’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and though his face was turned into his neck Castiel felt him shift to look down at him. “You holding up okay?” Daryl asked, thumbing his cheek and smearing the trail of a wayward tear into his mud speckled skin.

“I’m fine.” He lied through his teeth and he didn’t know why he even tried. Daryl huffed, and Cas didn’t need to see him to know he was staring down at him disbelievingly, eyebrow raised as he waited for the truth.

“I’m not fine.” Cas admitted after a beat, and that was all it took, three words to break the dam he had been futilely holding together all night. Fiddling with the collar of Daryl’s shirt, Castiel blew out his cheeks in frustration, “She was right there Daryl, she was so close, if I was just a little faster I could have got to her in time! And I can’t stop thinking about it, about her. Is she going to be able to find shelter? Is she safe? She has to be so frightened, I don’t even know if she’s going to make it through the night, I don’t know if she’s even still—”

“She’s alive Cas, she has to be.” Daryl said with conviction, his hand cupping Castiel’s cheek as he moved him back, tilting his head up so he could look him in the eye, “Ain’t no way she’s not, and we’re goin’ to find her. This ain’t on you.”

“How can you know that?”

“Hell, it ain't the mountains of Tibet. It's Georgia. She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere. People get lost and they survive.” His assurance was remarkable, and the corners of Castiel’s mouth tilted upwards into a bemused half-smile despite himself, “It happens all the time.”

“She’s just a child.” Castiel said, pushing himself up on one elbow and moving to cradle Daryl’s head in the crook of his arm as he looked down at him. How Daryl could believe a little girl could survive in the woods by herself, with cannibal freaks and a whole host of wild animals was absolutely beyond him.

“I was younger than her and I got lost.” Daryl's hand still cupped around his shoulder, Castiel sagged into his grasp as Daryl kneaded his shoulder firmly, “Nine days in the woods eating berries, wiping my ass with poison oak.” He threaded a hand through his hair and shrugged half-heartedly as he spoke, as if he were recalling something mundane.

“The way I see it, Sophia has an advantage. She has people looking for her. My old man was off on a bender with some waitress when I got lost, and Merle was doing another stint in juvie. Didn't even know I was gone.” Daryl gnawed on his thumbnail, his hand having dropped from Castiel’s shoulder and he looked away, his discomfort rising at the mere mention of his father, “I made my way back though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich, no worse for wear. Except my ass itched somethin’ awful.”

The attempt at a joke stung, but hit its mark as Cas smiled down at him wryly, running his hand along the top of Daryl’s shoulder, skirting the raised line of scar tissue that curled up and over the tightly coiled muscle. Every anecdote from Daryl’s childhood was a test of mental fortitude for Castiel, who never knew if it would be a fond memory of his mother or Merle, or one of his dad, spoken in an unfamiliar detached voice that made Cas see red.

Thinking of Daryl, younger than Sophia, lost in the backwoods of Georgia and alone for days made him realize just how out of sorts he had been as an angel. He thought he had seen it all, that the atrocities of humankind on a grand scale and their achievements were the axis on which the world spun. He could only see once his grace was gone that it was within each individual person where their collective strength lie. In the minutiae of a little girl who was left behind in the woods. Or in a young boy who lived through impossible neglect, only to become a man who was still so capable of goodness.

Daryl had obviously said more than he meant to, his posture stiff as he looked out the windshield, purposefully avoiding Castiel. Taking pity on him, Cas flopped back down, squirming and shuffling until he was wrapped around Daryl’s side, sandwiched between the back of the seat and the other man, who was grumbling quietly under his breath.

“I remember my first real night at camp. I was sitting all by myself, just listening to people talk.” Castiel said wistfully, and he could feel Daryl relax along his side, pleased he was changing the subject, “I was so nervous, I had never been introduced to such a large group before without having known anyone, and I wasn’t sure how to answer their questions. I was just incredibly awkward, and you were nowhere to be found, so I was sitting on my own, counting out the second till I could head back to my tent.”

“Sophia, she came up to me with her sketchbook, and she started showing me these drawings of dinosaurs she had made.” Shaking his head, Castiel chuckled at the memory of those little stick figure dinosaurs, scrawled across page after page in different colored marker, “She knew all of the names, and she knew what people thought they looked like, but she didn’t know what they _really_ looked like. No human knows that, although your paleontologists were getting pretty close before the Croats showed up. So, I told her.”

“I realized I was probably freaking her out, that she must have thought I was crazy or something… but she just laughed. She was so excited, and she sat there with me the rest of the night, making me fix her drawings. By the time Carol came to get her, I couldn’t even remember what I was so worried about. She made that night bearable.”

“Do you remember when she painted your nails?” Daryl asked with a smile, turning onto his side and facing Castiel, his head propped up in one hand, “Her dad almost blew a gasket, but you were so level headed and cool about it, just taking it on the chin until Shane got him to back down.”

“That would be me, turning the other cheek.” Cas said dryly, “I didn’t know why it was such an issue with him. Men in Babylonia, China and Egypt all painted their nails, and she was having so much fun. I didn’t understand why he had to ruin it for her.”

“He didn’t though, because the very next night you did it again!” Castiel’s grin grew impossibly wide as he recalled the stunned look on Ed’s face, when Cas had stared him down across the fire, jaw set firm and one hand gripped gingerly in Sophia’s hand as she painted cherry red lacquer on his nails, “He just had to sit back and shut his mouth after the verbal beat down Shane gave him. I’m not one to pry, but I know that girl ain’t had an easy life, and with the way Ed was with her momma, I doubt he was very kind to her either. She didn’t seem to trust any of the other men in camp, but she trusted you. Right off the bat.”

“You were good to her. You treated her kindly and you showed her that not all guys are like her father.” Daryl tucked a lose curl behind Castiel’s ear as he spoke, trailing the tips of his fingers down his neck before pulling him into his chest and wrapping his arms around his firmly, “I remember watching you that night, Sophia painting your nails by the campfire, both of you with these big, shit eatin’ grins on your faces, and I remember thinking to myself that we were all very lucky to have you with us.”

“We’ll find her, right?”

“Yeah Cas, we’ll find her.”


	19. Chestlehurst Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for the comments and Kudos, it is always so nice to hear from you folks! 
> 
> I've been writing up a storm lately, and these next couple of chapters have been so much fun to put together, so I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> xoxo

Daryl woke with a start to the sound of birds and idle chatter, face mushed into a pillow as he sprawled out in a tent that wasn’t his own. 

It was early morning, by the hazy light filtering through the thin sheet walls and the damp, early autumn chill in the air. His skin prickled with it, goosebumps rising along his arms as he rolled onto his back, tossing an arm behind his head and studying his surrounding without lifting from the ground. He knew this tent, he realized after a moment of sleep mired wondering, taking in the forest green walls and the domed roof. The red plaid sleeping bag and the duffel in the corner. The Coleman lantern, the crumpled-up army jacket, the whetstone and the leather-bound journal lying next to his pillow.

It was Castiel’s tent.

He didn’t remember going to sleep in Cas’ tent.

In fact, he didn’t remember going to sleep at all.

He wouldn’t have just crashed in Castiel’s, not even on the off chance they had slept together last night. He’d been incredibly careful to keep some distance between them since their tryst at the senior’s home in Atlanta, and their run in on the gridlocked highway. It was by Castiel’s insistence, as a matter of fact, wanting to keep things either friendly or casual to avoid drawing the attention of the group, and subsequently Daryl’s crippling anxiety. They couldn’t afford the distraction. With Sophia missing, the only thing on either of their minds was finding her, and bringing her home, safe and sound.

They could have been planning their next course of action. During the search for Sophia, they had been letting Rick take the reigns, assigning sections of forest to certain individuals to comb through like a grid. But in their off hours, Daryl and Cas had taken to searching on their own and mapping out landmarks, using those to try and decipher what she would have done and where she might be. They had spent many a night huddled in Castiel’s tent by the lantern, scouring maps and debating what their next move should be. But Daryl had always left afterwards, and returned to his own tent. He never stayed the night.

Wracking his brain, he couldn’t seem to remember what it was he had done, or where Cas was for that matter. He couldn’t remember the past day either, and before he could put a stop to it he could feel a fresh wave of anxiety wash over him. He remembered Carl being shot while looking for Sophia, and he remembered coming to Hershel’s farm. Shane saving Carl’s life, Carl recovering, crashing on Hershel’s front lawn… he remembered the search, how they would meet by the truck every morning to decide who was looking where for the day. He remembered consoling Carol, and finding an old farmhouse where he was certain Sophia had been staying. But the past night was a blur that tugged at the corners of his mind and made his vision hazy.

Before he could move into a full-blown panic, he heard the flap unzipping, and Castiel poked his head into the tent with a bright smile, a cup of coffee clenched in one hand as a cheerful “Good morning, sunshine.”

Cas ducked into the tent and zipped it closed behind him, sitting down and kicking off his boots all while holding the mug steady and talking, seemingly without breath. “I got you coffee. It’s instant, but it’s strong at least and it should wake you up. I figured you would need it after last night,” Castiel held the mug out to him without looking, pulling his socks off one handed, “you were up late. I woke up around midnight and you were still awake, reading. I tried to let you sleep in for as long I could, but Rick has been asking for you for the past hour, so its probably time to show your face.” Turning with a frown, Cas tilted his head to the side and bobbed the mug in the air, “Here, take it.”

Daryl did as he was told, wordlessly taking the coffee and grimacing at the smell of it (Castiel’s idea of “strong” coffee could kill an elephant, which probably explained why he was so grossly chipper that morning). He watched Cas warily over the rim of the mug as he took his first cautious sip, before sputtering gracelessly, groaning and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as Castiel looked on and laughed.

“When I said it was strong, I wasn’t being facetious.” He said with a smile, taking the cup back from Daryl and swallowing half of it down in two large gulps, “It’s horrid. Apparently, sugar isn’t something you take with you during an apocalyptic event.”

“You know, you could just half the amount of coffee you use.” Daryl muttered, propping himself up on his side, head cradled in the palm of his hand, “You don’t have to empty the jar each time you brew a pot.”

“But more coffee means more caffeine, and more caffeine means more energy.” Castiel said matter-of-factly, setting the mug down next to the journal and flopping onto the sleeping bag, his pillow puffing up around his head as he turned to look at Daryl, “And what’s the point of drinking coffee if not for its energizing properties? It tastes terrible.” He shuffled in place, shimmying underneath the blanket and curling up against Daryl’s side. If Cas noticed his confusion, he didn’t show it as he looped his arm around his waist and pressed his cheek against Daryl’s chest, “You know, I remember when you first discovered it. Before you started brewing it, you'd just chew the berries. Folktale is true by the way, you learned it from the goats.”

“It tastes terrible because you make it terribly.” Daryl groused, his mind racing but his body not getting the memo, and he let his head drop back to the pillow as he found a better use for his hands, gripping at Castiel’s back and pulling him even closer.

“I know, you’ve shown me how over a dozen times.” He couldn’t see his face, but he felt Cas smirk up against his collarbone, “I guess I just like it better when you make it.”

Daryl frowned, “I’ve never—”

Made you coffee, was what he meant to say, or shown you how. But as the words hovered on the tip of his tongue, memories he didn’t know were there surfaced in the forefront of his mind, and it was obvious that he _had_ shown Cas how to make coffee. He could see it clearly: the night they first came to Hershel’s farm, Cas had been insistent on staying up and formulating a plan of attack, to scour the forest for Sophia, and he tried to make them coffee. The results were the same as they were this morning, a goopy, acidic monstrosity that only Castiel (with his iron clad stomach) could drink without suffering eternal gut rot. Daryl had taken one sip, before dumping it in a bush and dragging Cas to the fire, teaching him how to make a proper pot.

He also remembered from then on how he would wake up before Cas (unsurprising, as when Castiel was out, he was dead to the world) and make them a cup, which he would bring to the tent just as Castiel had done. He remembered that they would lay there together, finishing off their shared mug of coffee and discussing their plans for the day as they slowly woke up. They did it every single day, they had been doing so since they came to the farm. It had become a routine of theirs: the first one up gets the coffee. It just so happened Daryl was always the first one up.

“You’ve never what?” Castiel asked, cupping Daryl’s cheek in his hand as his brow knotted together in concern, “Are you feeling okay? You seem a little out of sorts.” He pressed his palm to Daryl’s forehead, his bright blue eyes inches from Daryl’s and he scanned his face intently, lips pursed as he tried to determine his temperature, “You don’t feel warm… but then again, I don’t know what I’m doing. This is how you tell if someone is sick, right?”

Daryl’s breath hitched in his throat, his stomach fluttering uncomfortably at how _domestic_ this felt. Castiel waking him up with a cup of coffee, the ease in which they slipped into their regular morning routine. Cas checking him for a fever as if it were the most normal thing to do, and slipping into little angel anecdotes without hesitation. Something about it seemed off, but it also felt so _ordinary_ , like they did this all the time. Like they were in an actual relationship, where they were free to sleep in the same space and bring each other coffee in the mornings without worry.

But of course they were, Daryl thought with a shake of his head. They had been since their night on the road, sleeping in the back of the Impala on the I-85. They fell asleep together, and when he woke up the next morning, it was with Castiel sprawled across him. Castiel, with his legs shoved between Daryl’s own, pinning him chest to chest against the seat with one hand mashed against Daryl’s cheek, fingers arched across the bridge of his nose like the legs of a spider.

It was that morning, as he listened to Cas’ gentle snores, as he felt his arm going completely numb trapped between their bodies and warily watching Castiel’s roving fingers so close to his eye, that he decided he never wanted to wake up any other way. He was the most uncomfortable he had ever been in his entire adult life, too hot and being crushed under the weight of a six-foot-tall, fully grown man and yet he felt completely at peace, happy in a way he couldn’t remember ever being before. And he had never been so angry with himself for turning away for so long. For being such a dreadful coward.

Cas had been a whirlwind of nervous energy that morning, when he finally awoke with an ungainly snort to find he had fallen asleep with Daryl, in the back of the Impala in full view of everyone. It wasn’t even as if they had slept on separate seats, he was completely stuck to him in every way, and there was no way to play it off. He was half hysterical, apologizing profusely and thinking up lame excuses as Daryl got out of the car without a word. He had been quietly perplexed as Daryl helped him out as well. And he had been awestruck when Daryl had pressed him back against the closed door of the Impala, Castiel’s face cupped between his palms and kissed him softly, right there in the street, the whole group looking on.

It had been quick, and it had been easy. Like ripping off a band-aid, the pressure and the fear crashing down on him like a sack of bricks, but only for a moment. Because the instant he pulled away, Castiel’s smile was everything. Cas had gripped his wrists and held him there, happy but still tentative, unsure if Daryl’s spur of the moment decision would hold, but when Daryl leaned forward to press a reassuring kiss on his forehead he had laughed jovially. Cas had shaken his head and called him strange, but there was nothing but relief in his voice. And that was all there was too it: months of agonizing swept away in an instant with one small kiss.

He must have been dreaming, Daryl mused, when he woke up that morning. He must have dreamt that he and Castiel had not reconciled, a particularly vivid dream that stuck with him as he slowly eased into consciousness. It would explain why he couldn’t remember the past few days either. He was remembering the dream as if it were reality, and there were no past few days in the dream. Now, completely awake he remembered exactly what he had done last night, last week, and every day in-between.

He shook his head and chuckled at himself, pulling Castiel’s hand away from his forehead and kissing his knuckles. “I feel fine.” Daryl said softly, guiding Cas’ arm around his neck before sliding his hand down his arm, his side and grasping at those perfect hips, “I just had a weird dream.”

“What was it about?” Cas asked, stealing a kiss as he toyed with Daryl’s messy hair, curling and twisting strands between his fingers.

“Nothing important.” Chasing after the sweet press of Castiel’s lips, Daryl caught him on the rebound, coaxing them into motion against his own. Even as Castiel rolled to straddle him, deepening the kiss it stayed slow and languid, both of them still shaking the haze of sleep from their limbs.

Cas pulled away and sat up straight, extending his arms up over his head and wincing when he hit the roof of the tent, lifting it a few inches and tugging at the pegs. With a shrug, he adjusted his arms, folding them behind his back as he stretched out his shoulders, and Daryl watched with rapt attention, running his hands up and digging into the meat of his upper thighs. Feeling his eyes on him, Cas smiled wickedly, dropping down to kiss him once more before pulling away, grabbing his boots and heading out of the tent.

Daryl groaned indignantly as he left, grasping weakly behind him and catching his fingers in the hem of Castiel’s shirt. “Stay,” he said, tugging on Cas’ plaid work shirt and almost pulling him off balance as he stood crouched in the door of the tent, “just ten more minutes and I’ll get up, I promise.”

“It’s already noon, you have to get up _now_.” Castiel reprimanded, snatching the shirt out of his hands with an affectionate grin, “Drink your coffee and get outside.”

“It’s not even coffee.” He muttered, watching Cas zip up the tent from the outside, and listening to his receding footsteps as he walked back to camp.

Stepping outside a few moments later and pouring the sludgy coffee on the ground, he barely remembered anything seeming amiss, and his strange dream was all but forgotten. Dressed and awake as he’d ever be, he made his way across one of the cow paths to the farm house, pulling his jacket tighter around his body as a firm gust wind tore across the open fields. It had been a while since they got here, he mused, noticing everyone in their group was wearing light jackets, sweaters and the like. The weather had turned quickly, the humid, scorching summer making way for fall leaves and a bitter wind that was making nights in their tents unbearable. Rick was pushing to convert the barn into a more permanent shelter for them, though Lori was insisting they try to get Hershel to let them move inside the house. Daryl just wanted more blankets: he could stand sleeping in a tent come winter if it meant he didn’t have to sleep in a single room with five other people that weren’t Cas.

Rick nodded his greeting as Daryl stepped up beside him, looking down at the map spread out in front of him on the flatbed of the truck. They had scanned most the western side of the forest for Sophia, so he wanted to look around the—

He turned abruptly when he felt a small tug at the tail of his shirt, looking down when he didn’t immediately see who was behind him. His pulse skyrocketed and he took a quick look around, grabbing and shaking Rick’s shoulder as he stared at Sophia, standing right in front of him with his shirt still clutched in her fist.

“Jesus— Rick!” Daryl gave him a firm shove, finally pulling his attention away from the map and pointing to the little girl, eyebrows raised and a look of utter confusion on his face.

“Good afternoon...” Rick said slowly to Sophia, not taking his eyes off Daryl as he stared at him perplexedly, “What’s the matter, Daryl?”

“What’s the matter?” Daryl asked incredulously gesturing towards the little girl with an open palm, “When were you goin’ to tell me you found her!?”

“I don’t think I understand.” Rick placed a hand on Sophia’s shoulder, comforting her as he spoke and he shot Daryl a sharp look. One that told him to calm down, and that he was frightening her.

That wouldn’t do, he realized. No point in saving the girl just to scare the shit out of her when she only just got back. He shook his head sharply and turned to Sophia, “I’m sorry sweetheart, you just took me by surprise is all. Is somethin’ wrong?”

She didn’t answer, looking warily back and forth between Rick and Daryl, before biting her lip and glancing over her shoulder at the camp, where Castiel, Lori and her mother stood in a circle by the fire, watching curiously. It was then Daryl noticed the plate of food clutched in her free hand, and when her mom gave her a short nod, she turned back and offered it to him.

She was sent to bring him breakfast, and he had frightened her.

He felt all of two feet tall.

“Thank you.” He murmured, taking the plate from her and watched as she ran off instantly, looping an arm around her mother’s hips and burying her face in Carol’s side.

“Are you feeling okay?” Rick asked, inadvertently mimicking Castiel’s earlier query and Daryl was starting to wonder if he was. Because as he watched Sophia run back to her mom, he remembered that he was the one to find her, almost three weeks prior. She was holed up in a farmhouse to the north east, living off bugs and river water, sick as a dog and completely dehydrated, but alive. He had almost died on that run: the horse he’d borrowed had thrown him off a cliff, startled by a snake and he had taken a nasty tumble onto one of his crossbow bolts.

It had been harrowing, having to climb up a sheer cliff face with an arrow in his gut and he fell more than once. By the time he made it up the cliff he was nearly delirious, but against the ringing in his head he heard her crying. Not out loud, but in his mind… and when he tried to listen harder he felt himself being pulled towards her, tugged by some invisible connection that ran through his brain and made his head pound.

He had followed her cries to the farmhouse, and they helped each other get home.

Daryl ran his fingers absently against his abdomen, tracing the scar from the bolt he had taken and he pondered how he could have forgotten about finding her. It had eaten him and Castiel alive, this quest to find Sophia so all-encompassing that they dedicated any time they had to finding her. Days spent in the woods, nights plotting out locations on maps and reassuring each other that they would locate her, and she would be fine. How could he have forgotten that?

“I’m fine.” Daryl said after a beat, turning back to the map and picking at his breakfast, “I think I just slept to long.”

“Yeah, you really did waste the light today.” Rick joked, smiling as he snuck a slice of cucumber off Daryl’s plate, “You could probably use the break though. You’ve been workin’ harder than any of us these past few days, and Hershel has been impressed with the game you’ve been pulling in. Honestly man,” Daryl flinched when he clapped a hand on his shoulder, but thankfully Rick didn’t comment on it, “You’ve really come around for this group, you and Cas both. Don’t think its not appreciated.”

Nodding, and not at all comfortable with the praise, Daryl pointed to a spot on the map, out east of the farm, “I’m goin’ to head out there, take a walk and check my snares. Can’t say I’ll find much, but hopefully we can pull some more game before it starts to snow.” He hefted his bow over his shoulder, shoving a piece of tomato in his mouth and licking the juice off his fingers, “If you have anythin’ you want from town, let Cas know. I think he’s goin’ on a run soon.”

“Sounds good.” Rick waved him off as he doubled back down the cow path, before snapping his fingers and shouting after him, “Hey! If you need someone with you, Otis has been askin’ if he can help with hunting. You should take him, an extra pair of hands might come in handy.”

He didn’t hear him though, not really. Daryl was too busy staring through the trees, across the lawn at Sophia, who was sitting in between Lori and Carl, talking animatedly, happily. Completely safe and whole. The image should have made him feel accomplished, like he had done something good and worthwhile. It should have made him glad to see that little girl alive and well, back with her momma at last.

But he only felt cold.

The chill stuck with him through his walk in the forest. It was a sickly, dark day, with a heavy fog that funneled through the trees, blanketing the forest floor, layered upon fallen leaves. This is useless, he thought to himself, clicking his tongue as he realized he couldn’t see the trees in front of his face, much less wild game or worse, a walker in the distance. He wouldn’t even be able to locate his traps like this; if he didn’t have his compass, he’d be lost and he couldn’t find a safe place to check his map.

When he finally made the decision to turn back, he was pretty far away from camp. It wasn’t the furthest he’d gone by any means, but he had no way of knowing if it was the same path he had taken on his previous journeys. It seemed like it when he first set out, but as the fog cloud rolled in, he started to think he might have veered off at some point. The trees were older, denser in this part of the woods, and there were no noises to be heard, walker, human or otherwise.

The silence made him more nervous than he cared to admit, as he thought back to the chapel on the Gahuti Trail and the wendigo that chased away all life from its woods. In the middle of the forest, trapped in this fog, if he was set upon by a wendigo or some other kind of creature, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He thought that there had to be a reason for it… a non-supernatural reason, but he couldn’t hear the birds he woke up to any longer, nor the buzzing of gnats and aphids, or the sound of the wind. He couldn’t even hear his own breathing.

He yelped in surprise as a loud pounding sound, like a fist upon wood, erupted from behind him. Wheeling around with his crossbow in hand, Daryl took aim with his finger on the trigger. The fog had inexplicably cleared in one section of the woods, and as he observed it he could see it swirling, pressing against the sides of the clearing as if there were a clear glass wall holding it back. In the center of the clearing was a house, and one he immediately recognized. A moonshiner’s cabin, like the one he used to stay at with his old man on hunting trips, and later moved into when they got evicted from their family home. There was old junk and lumber piled up outside, and the windows had all been tightly boarded, except for the peculiar looking door.

It was a large oak door, old, with wrought iron handles and hinges, and it stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the newer sliding glass windows and laminate walls. Unlike the windows, which had been sealed up with pieces of aluminium siding and two by fours, the door wasn’t even locked. It wasn’t even shut, and when a wind he couldn’t feel picked up incrementally it slammed against its frame, the sound of it echoing through the clearing, followed quickly by the squeak of its hinges as it slid open once more.

He couldn’t see inside from where he was standing, the door only open a sliver, but when he tried to step closer he heard a sharp crack, like bone crunching, followed by a debilitating, piercing sound. It was a horrible screech that felt like a railway spike to the brain and with a pained cry he fell to his knees, dropping his crossbow to the forest floor as he clutched his head in his hands. Even with his ears covered, the sound was just as deafening, maybe even more so and it felt like it was pulsating outwards, starting from the very center of his skull. He couldn’t open his eyes, and he swore he could feel the vibrations of that terrible shriek under his skin, shifting and pulling at his muscles and knocking against the bone. His breathing quickened, no more than short, heaving pants and he sobbed in pain, his forehead hitting the leaves underneath him as he slumped forward onto the ground.

And as abruptly it came, it was gone.

He wheezed and puffed against the ground, his forehead crushing and scattering the dried leaves and branches he was pressed up against. His fingers still clutched to his ears, he slowly pried open his eyes, whimpering as the light sparked a dull throbbing in his temples, and he moved his hands to shield them from the sun as he sat up straight. His heart pounded in his chest, hammering against his ribs in distress, and with his hands cupped over his eyes he chanced a look around.

The house was gone, and so was the fog. In its place was a still gloomy day, but one that was not nearly as cold. He was on the path he recognized, kneeling on the dry ground and he could hear birds once more. He could see clouds of aphids flitting into his field of vision, and the rustling of the trees overhead. He could hear the creek to the south.

Everything was back to normal, but his head still ached and as he removed his palms from his eyes he was startled to see bright shocks of blood in the center of each. With shaking fingertips, he traced the inner contours of both ears, his fingers plunging into small pools of sticky, wet blood.

“Well shit.” He muttered under his breath, taking to his feet and slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He was trembling all over, and although his heartbeat had returned to normal, his head, eyes and ears ached terrible, like he had an awful sinus infection, “Maybe I am coming down with something. 

It appeared that a significant amount of time had passed while he was having his moment out in the woods. The sun was already hanging low when he snapped out of it, and by the time he made it back to camp it was already dark. He didn’t bother heading back to the camp proper, seeking out Castiel reflexively. He had experienced something… not quite right in those woods, and had lost hours of his day. If he didn’t need the resident monster hunter’s help, he at least wanted to talk about it with someone who wouldn’t call him crazy. He found Cas easily, sitting by a small fire he’s set up by their tent, passive aggressively sharpening knives and absolutely silent as Daryl emerged from the treeline.

Cas saw him approach, he had to. Daryl wasn’t trying to hide, but Castiel didn’t greet him. Instead, he slid Daryl’s bowie knife faster along the surface of his stone, his lips pursed, eyebrows drawn, and Daryl knew that face. He was pissed.

“Hey Cas.” Daryl started, taking a seat next to him by the fire, but out of arms reach. He knew better than to get to close when Cas was armed and angry. He had a nasty habit of making grandiose, sweeping arm gestures when he ranted, and Daryl didn’t want to sit himself right in his trajectory, especially not with that knife in his hand, “How was your run?”

“It was a bust.” Castiel answered curtly, swiping once more over the stone before scooping the slurry onto his fingers and rubbing it in small circles along the face of the blade, “Didn’t find anything anyone asked for. Just a lot of useless crap, it was an absolute waste of time.”

“You didn’t go back for that creepy clown cookie jar?”

“It was broken, I think a walker must have knocked it off the shelf or something.” Cas said, wiping the slurry off with a wet cloth and turning the blade in the fire’s light. With a satisfied smile, he set it down on the towel he had laid out beside himself, before taking another knife (Shane’s) and studying the curvature. “It’s a wonder he can cut anything with this,” Castiel griped, “the balance is completely off. Oh, and I got you this.”

Ping ponging through subjects at a speed Daryl feared might give him whiplash, Cas dropped Shane’s knife and dug through his duffel. Castiel had made himself another nest, it seemed, surrounded by his sharpened knives and a pile that still had to be worked on. He had his ratty old blanket wrapped around his waist and across his lap, and his duffel bag right behind him, serving as an impromptu backrest. He looked cozy, wearing more layers than necessary: a jacket over a hoodie, over a work shirt, over a tee shirt. Castiel always had a penchant for stacking on items of clothing, but he always looked insurmountably comfortable.

When he turned back to Daryl, it was with a box of Red Vines in hand. Cas held them out to him without looking, choosing to stare at the campfire instead and Daryl couldn’t help but smile when he took them, wasting no time ripping into them.

“That was my best find, as sad as that is.” Castiel said with a sigh, going back to honing Shane’s blade, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find any bolts. I couldn’t find any food or medicine either. The whole town is basically picked clean.”

“That why you’re all sulky tonight?” Daryl asked around a mouthful of Red Vines, “You’re mad you didn’t find anything useful on your fourth run to the same town? C’mon man, give yourself a break.”

“I know.” His response was curt and he narrowed his eyes, but Castiel didn’t look away from his work, not even as he accepted the candy Daryl held out for him, letting the other man feed him the sticky sweet licorice, “I know, it’s just… there are so many things we need, we’re incredibly low on medical supplies after everything that happened with Carl, Sophia… you. And if I could just go to the FEMA camp where Otis and Shane got that ventilator? I’d be able to find everything we need there. Bandages, medical equipment, antibiotics. But Rick won’t let me go further than that stupid, picked apart town and I can’t just go without him finding out about it.”

“Are you kidding me? Forget about Rick, _I_ won’t let you go!” Daryl rubbed at his forehead, candy forgotten on the ground for the moment as he stared at Castiel in disbelief, “The place is overrun! Shane and Otis barely made it back alive, ain’t no way you could do it on your own.”

“I could though!” Castiel huffed in annoyance, and the knife sung as he swept it against the stone, faster and with less precision, “I’m wasted on these useless trips into town. I’m faster than anyone in this camp, and I’m quiet. I could be in and out before any Croats knew I was there.”

“I can’t believe this is even up for debate, but sure, let’s say you could do it. You could also fuck up.” He watched Castiel’s jaw tense as he grit his teeth, and Daryl knew he hit his mark, “You’ve done it before, and chances are you might do it again. How the hell do you expect to handle that? And what would I do if you didn’t come back?”

“I can think on my feet.”

“Baby, that don’t matter if you get worn down. Walkers don’t tire, but you do. You know better, come on.” Taking his chances, Daryl scooted forward, resting his hand on Castiel’s wrist and urging him to put the knife down, “Rick isn’t trying to punish you by not letting you go, he’s trying to keep you from making a deadly mistake. There’s a difference between being able to do something, and whether or not you should. It’s a suicide run, Castiel.”

“Every day is a suicide run!” Cas threw his hands up, knife still clutched in his fist and Daryl dove back, dodging out of the way at the very last second and landing on his elbows. Castiel winced as he apologized, finally setting the knife down in the grass, “Every time you go off into the woods on your own is a suicide run, but you still get to. No one ever stops you. Do you truly think it doesn’t bother me when you head out into the forest alone, and don’t come back till well after dark? You think I don’t worry about you every time you go out there? Of course I do! But I would never tell you not to, because it’s how you choose to do your part.”

“This is mine, and I know I could do it. There’s so little I can do for these people already.” With a groan Castiel buried his face in his hands, his words muffled by his palms as he accidentally smeared slurry across his forehead, “It’s just frustrating. Coming back empty handed when I _know_ …”

“I know.” Daryl said softly as he shifted forward once more to take hold of Castiel’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his face.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel muttered, looking Daryl in the face for the first time that night, and with detached amusement Daryl watched his expression shift from dejection to concern in one mighty leap, “What happened to you? Daryl, you’re bleeding!”

“Its old blood, it’s…” What was it even? He didn’t know where to start, “Something weird happened in the woods today.”

* * *

 

 

“It could be a banshee.” Castiel said, sitting next to Daryl in the small space of their tent, cleaning the blood from his ears and neck with a damp cloth, “They have piercing screams, maybe like the one you heard. Their victim’s ears bleed too, though you don’t seem to have sustained any hearing damage.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Daryl muttered, staying as still as he could while Cas worked, flipping through the entries in John’s journal, looking for something that seemed to fit, “I didn’t _hear_ it, you know? It felt like it was coming from inside my head.”

Cas nodded solemnly. He had taken Daryl's retelling in stride and had perked up instantly, his own problems discarded as he ushered Daryl into the tent, determined to figure out what had happened to him in the woods. This was the first time they had to figure out what the creature or spirit was before it showed itself, he had said, and it would be good practice for Daryl. So far, all of the things they had hunted had revealed themselves early on, or were obvious to Castiel. But not all hunts were so straightforward, apparently.

And this one appeared to be confusing Cas as well.

“It could be a thought form, or some kind of warding?” Cas offered with a shrug, “To keep you out of the house you saw?”

Daryl shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he stared blankly at the pages in front of him, distantly hoping the answer would be right there in front of his face, “The house was gone once that screeching stopped.”

“So it was a vision then? You know, sometimes visions can have real, physical consequences.” Leaning back to observe his work, Cas hummed in satisfaction before tossing the cloth aside. He settled onto his stomach beside Daryl’s thigh and reached over, flipping to the passage on psychic visions, “If you had a vision, it would explain why you didn’t realize something was amiss until the very end. Sometimes a psychics mind will kind of… smooth over the transition. To lessen the amount of mental trauma.”

“Visions can traumatize me?”

“Well yes.” Castiel pointed up at the side of his head, “The evidence of that was just pouring out of your ears.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daryl groaned, picking the journal up and holding it in his lap. He absently turned the pages, scanning each heading for anything vaguely interesting when he noticed something odd.

The journal was alphabetized, and between the entries for “Deva” and “Doppelganger”, there were at least three missing pages. They hadn’t been removed properly, but instead were torn out, shredded pieces still clinging to the rings of the book.

“Hey Cas, what do you think was in here?” He asked, tilting the book to the side so Castiel could see the missing pages.

He expected him to be a little more curious, if he were being honest. Daryl thought that the sight of the missing pages would peak his interest, or at least get him a little miffed that the journal had been defaced. He didn’t expect Cas to just shrug his shoulder and shuffle to their makeshift bed.

“Really? Nothing?” Daryl said incredulously, closing the journal and laying down next to Castiel, lying face to face on the same pillow, “What would be between Deva and Doppelganger? Any ‘D’ words that come to mind?”

“Dodore? Djinn? I don’t know Daryl, and to be honest with you I don’t think it matters.” Castiel sighed as he flicked off the lantern, taking Daryl joining him as a sign they were going to attempt to sleep, “It’s clear this was a vision of some kind. Maybe you should keep out of the woods for a while?”

“You don’t think it meant I should _look_ for this cabin?” He wasn’t convinced, he had no proof it was a vision in the first place, but Castiel seemed so adamant, “I mean, it showed me exactly what it looked like, with the door opening and closing… that seems like it’s calling to me, right?”

“No.” Castiel’s answer was firm, and left no room for argument. With a sympathetic look he softened the blow by tucking himself into Daryl’s arms, kissing his collarbone through his shirt, “You don’t know what it is that’s sending them to you. It could be trying to lure you out into the woods to do you harm. It could be a trickster spirit, trying to get you lost in the forest. You said when you were going to go inside the cabin, that’s when the screeching started, right? I think that’s a warning to stay away.”

“So that’s it?” Daryl asked, but the fight was gone from his voice and he pulled Castiel closer, assuming the same position they were in that morning and running the backs on his nails along Cas’ spine, “No more research for tonight? I don’t know if I can sleep like this, without knowing. I’m going to be thinking about it all night.”

Pulling back with a sly smile, Cas reached around his back and grasped Daryl’s wrist, flattening out his palm with one of his hands and pressing a kiss to the center. “I think I can help tire you out,” Castiel murmured, and with Daryl’s complete and undivided attention he flicked the tip of his tongue against the pad of his index finger, swirling it around the tip before wrapping his lips around it and sliding down the knuckle, sucking and laving his tongue against the underside before pulling off with a wet pop. Raising his eyebrow coquettishly, Cas dragged the tip of Daryl’s spit slick finger along his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open gently and Daryl couldn’t have held out it he tried, snatching his finger away with a gasping moan and plundering that beautiful mouth with lips and tongue.

Castiel wasn’t wrong, and as he lay wrapped around his back later that night, skin slick with sweat and his breath still coming back to him, he found he had almost forgotten his incident in the forest. Cas was already half asleep, snuffling lightly on his side with his arms thrown out across the bed and his knees tucked up towards his chest, and Daryl pressed close to his back, kissing the curve of his neck adoringly before tugging the sleeping bag up past their shoulders. It was easy for him that night, to slip into a deep and dreamless sleep, but come morning, he would just barely recall hearing something in a familiar voice.

One that sounded like dozens of different voices, speaking in time and harmonizing with one another.

A voice that was begging him to wake up.


	20. C____hur_t R__d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouff this one was hard! I am so sorry for the long wait, but here is a long chapter to make up for it! I must have written and re-written this chapter like five times, but I am happy with how it turned out so I hope you enjoy it. Also, shame on me for trying to surprise you all, you're too smart for me! I thought finding out it was a Djinn was going to be a big revelation, but y'all guessed it right off the bat, way to go ;)
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are wonderful, and I will try to respond to them as promptly as I can. This chapter has some smutty goings on at first, so be forewarned!

Waking up with his nose buried in the mess of Castiel’s hair, bare chest pressed firmly against his sleep warmed back with their legs tangled together should have been the perfect way to start Daryl’s morning. It had been for months, there was no reason today should have been any different. But as he slowly opened his eyes, the first thing he became aware of wasn’t the hot press of Cas’ naked skin against his own, nor was it sound of his drowsy, snuffling breaths.

It was the light dusting of snow that clung to his hair and his cheeks, drifting in gently from the mesh walls of their tent.

“Cas,” Daryl said urgently, shaking him none to gently, “c’mon, get up. It’s snowing, we have to get dressed.” True to form, Castiel grunted against his pillow and swatted at Daryl’s hand, before rolling deeper into the sleeping bag, still fast asleep.

They hadn’t bothered to put their clothes back on the night before, not willing to pry themselves apart, and Castiel had passed out long before Daryl had even thought of it as an option anyways. It was a cold night, but they had a veritable nest of blankets, plus (as Cas had complained about on numerous occasions) Daryl was a living furnace when he slept. If it dropped a few degrees during the night, he figured they would be fine. Besides, if it meant he could wake up wrapped around Castiel, pressed into his tanned, lean back he wasn’t going to complain.

He hadn’t anticipated it was going to snow, however. It was September in Georgia, snow was unheard of there until at least November. This didn’t look like just a little bit of snow either, like they had a bit of a cold snap during the night that resulted in a light flurry. No, the amount of snow that had drifted through their mesh walled tent and piled up around the corners was not a “little bit”, crusting in a thin sheet of ice across the edges of their sleeping bags and billowing against their faces with each frigid gust of wind.

“Cas.” Daryl grumbled as he pushed his shoulder hard, getting only a piteous whine for his trouble as Castiel shoved him away and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his snow dappled pillow and not seeming to notice at all. “You’ve got to be kidding me, seriously?” With an incredulous huff, Daryl braced himself for the sudden chill as he lifted the corner of the sleeping bag, exposing Castiel’s bare, sleep heated skin to the frosty air wafting through the tent.

His reaction was immediate and violent.

“What the _fuck_!?” The blanket was torn out of his hands before he even had a chance to lower it, and Castiel tucked it underneath his nose as he moved, cocooning himself under the far edge of the sleeping bag and lying on his back. His eyes were the only part of his face not covered and he glared angrily at Daryl, “How is it so cold… is this snow?”

“Yes, thanks for joining us in the present.” Daryl griped, curling himself around Cas once more, the short moments chill having shocked through him, sinking into his bones. He was shivering, his teeth chattering and he couldn’t help but dread having to dart out into the cold to grab their clothes, “It must have started last night, and by the looks of it I think it’s still coming down.”

“It’s September.” Castiel mused, looking around the tent at the slowly drifting flakes, watching them with unabashed wonder as they floated to the surface of their sleeping bag. He was still covered past his chin, but he relaxed as soon as Daryl’s arm crossed his chest, and Cas let himself be tugged towards him, tilting his head to the side and bumping his forehead against Daryl’s cheek.

“I’ve never seen it snow this hard so early in the season before.” Daryl pressed his lips softly to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, more of an afterthought than a conscious decision, but he smiled as Cas tilted his head in response, letting Daryl pull him into a proper, gentle kiss, “I’ve lived in Georgia my whole life, it ain’t never snowed like this in September. Sure, it’s been cold lately, but not cold enough to warrant this kinda weather.”

“I wonder if it’s at all natural.” Rolling onto his side, pulling the sleeping bag up and over their heads, Castiel looped his thigh around Daryl’s, tugging him closer and drawing a gasp from both of their mouths as the motion slotted their hips together. “I-it could be supernatural… something to do with the—” Cas broke off into a soft groan, amplified in the confined space of the sleeping bag as Daryl leaned forward and nipped at his bottom lip, before kissing down his jaw, “the thing, in the woods. That t-thing, Daryl!”

He knew they should just get dressed, that they didn’t have time for this. The rest of the camp was probably in a panic, the sudden snow storm having caught them all by surprise. They had at least thirty head of cattle in the barn that needed heat, they had no winter clothes to speak of, and they could kiss the last of their crops goodbye. There was so much to be done, and they hadn’t even looked outside yet! For all they knew, they were snowed in. It could be a blizzard out there; they couldn’t afford to waste time fooling around like a couple of horny teenagers.

But Castiel was so warm, pliant and inviting, his hands gripping at Daryl’s bare hips, drawing him forward against his body and Daryl couldn’t, he had to go with him. Clothes be damned, same with the mystery snow storm. What would a few more moments hurt?

He gasped into Cas’ mouth as he was kissed heatedly, Castiel’s tongue coaxing against his own. He was ferocious, hot and balmy underneath the covers and it was all Daryl could do just to hold on, his hands sliding down Castiel’s back, skirting his scars on their way to his plump rear, digging in his fingers as Cas wrapped both of their cocks in his palm, stroking firmly root to tip.

Breaking away from Castiel’s lips and resting their foreheads together, Daryl moaned shamelessly, his eyes half closed and meeting Cas’ in the dark. Castiel wasn’t messing around that morning, working them both together with a strong, steady grip and Daryl’s hips moved of their own accord, rolling against Cas’ fist, precome smoothing the way and filling their cocoon of blankets with an obscene cacophony of sound that shot through Daryl like an electric shock.

“Fuck, Cas…” He tapered off into a panting whine, his mouth slack as he reached his hand between Castiel’s cheeks, circling where he was still slick and open from last night with his index finger before sinking inside of him, kissing him desperately as Cas moaned long and low. The angle was wrong, and Daryl couldn’t get as deep as he wanted, but as Cas’ hand stuttered and slowed he knew at least he was hitting his mark.

With a frustrated groan, Cas pulled free from his fingers and turned, pressing his back to Daryl’s chest and slipping his cock against his ass. Daryl let his head fall between Castiel’s shoulder blades, rutting up against him as he ran a hand down Castiel’s chest, his breath recoiling off Cas’ back and puffing against his cheeks. A stream of cold air and white morning light filtered into their cocoon of blankets as Cas reached outside, only for a moment until he pulled back with lube in hand.

Wrapping himself around Castiel, Daryl gripped at his hip with one hand, the other slung between Cas’ neck and the thin mattress, tilting Castiel’s chin over his shoulder so he could attack his kiss swollen mouth, swiping at his bottom lip with his tongue. Arching his back, Castiel grasped Daryl’s cock in his lube slicked hand, whispering a hasty apology under his breath at Daryl’s hiss, the chill of his palm a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies as they moved against each other.

Daryl ran his hand down Castiel’s thigh from his hip as Cas lined him up, pressing inside but just barely and he had to grit his teeth at the unerring pressure around the head of his cock. Cas was always so hot, molten and agonizingly familiar, that every time he slid home inside of him it felt like he had never been without. Castiel’s head tipped back against his shoulder as he groaned, and Daryl could feel it rumbling through his throat against his inner arm as he slipped his hand behind Cas’ knee and hauled his leg up, holding on tight as he sank into him, bottoming out with a soft gasp.

Bending his knees and planting his feet, Daryl began to thrust shallowly, wrenching a choked sob from Castiel’s reddened lips. His head still resting against his shoulder, Daryl peppered kisses along Cas temple, his cheek pressing into his wild mess of hair and he inhaled deeply the scent of the woods, earthy and alive, and something so particular to Castiel he didn’t even have a name for it. Something that smelt like the rain and fire, and with his nose buried in Castiel’s hair he pistoned his hips upwards, panting as he pressed in long and slow, as deep as he could get, before grinding into him in small circles, relishing in Cas’ raucous moans that surrounded them in their tiny, enclosed space.

Castiel’s fingers joined his own behind his knee, helping to support his leg as Daryl kept up his lazy pace. They were only able to roll against each other in this position, Daryl slipping out a few inches before surging back inside, alternating between short, shallow thrusts and a deep, slow grind. With his head thrown back, and his face half obscured by the pillow Daryl could only catch the barest glimpse of Castiel’s eyes, heavy lidded and tense, his brows drawn and face contorted in an expression Daryl knew too well. He was so close, and Daryl wasn’t far behind him, feeling his own release coiling tightly, radiating warmth through his limbs, licking at the burning muscles in his thighs as he quickened his pace.

Leaving Cas to support his leg alone Daryl let his hand slide back down his thigh, wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s neglected length and kissing him urgently as he stroked him in time with each motion of his hips, slamming into his prostate and staying there, grinding up against it until Cas was writhing against him, his shoulders pressing into Daryl’s chest. Cas gave up trying to kiss him back, incapable of reciprocating and holding his mouth slack as Daryl nipped at his lips, whining in the back of his throat and with three more strokes and a particularly deep thrust Castiel broke away with a strangled cry, burying his face in the crook of Daryl’s arm, his body tense as he came over Daryl’s fist.

With a litany of Castiel’s name falling from his lips, Daryl could feel himself building up, hovering over that familiar precipice and with a groan he remembered to pull out, fisting his cock against the curve of Castiel’s lower back as he finally came, groaning and trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Sighing deeply, his panting breaths fanning out against Cas’ shoulder he slipped back inside, shuddering at the feel of that slick warmth gripping at his hypersensitive cock.

He felt Castiel chuckle in his arms before he heard it, and Daryl smiled against his back as Cas craned his neck to kiss his forehead. “And now we’re going to have to do laundry in the snow,” he quipped, reaching back and smacking Daryl’s ass lightly in jest, “thank you for thinking of me though, you’re a perfect gentleman.”

“I still find it hard to believe that Senoia’s been completely cleaned out of condoms.” Daryl breathed heavily against his shoulder, kissing it softly as he pulled Castiel tighter against him, “They left their medicine and food behind, but they stocked up on those? Ain’t no way.”

“I don’t know, it can be fairly surprising what people think to bring with them in an emergency.” Reaching outside their remarkably balmy, ramshackle blanket fort Cas grabbed one of his bandannas, the ones he used for polishing his knives, and after checking to see that it was clean began mopping up the mess on his back, “Although, I have a hunch Glenn has been getting to them before me. He always darts to whatever pharmacy we find first.”

Grabbing the cloth from Cas’ blindly wiping hand, Daryl pulled away with a sigh before taking over, cleaning up Castiel’s back and thighs with a firm, gentle hand. “What do you mean?” Daryl asked, satisfied with his work and moving onto Castiel’s front, “Is he stocking up just in case? What possible use could he…” Cas shot him an amused look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised as he all but watched the gears turn in Daryl’s head, “Maggie.”

“Yeah.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Well, good for them.” Daryl hummed, tossing the bandanna outside of their blanket shield, shuddering at the burst of cold air that licked across his warm skin, “Still, they can share.”

“Are you going to be the one to tell them that?” Castiel asked with a wry smile, rolling onto his back and meeting his eyes.

“Oh hell no, that’s all on you.” Smiling right back, Daryl reached outside, finding what felt like jeans and a shirt and pulled them in with triumphant sound, realizing they were both his, “You got a way with words, I’m sure you can manage without humiliating everyone involved.”

“I thought you knew me better than that.” Cas grimaced as he reached for his own clothes, both dressing underneath the shield of blankets, realizing belatedly they still needed jackets, and hats and scarves… they didn’t even have their pitiful light jackets on yet, and they were already frozen to the bone in their chilled clothes.

“Apparently not.” Daryl said good-naturedly, kissing Cas’ cheek once they were fully clothed, before grasping at the blankets with a look of determination, “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They gasped in unison when Daryl threw the blankets off of them, their thin shirts not doing anything to stave off the cold. He could hear Castiel’s teeth chattering, and his own fingers trembled as Daryl lunged towards the foot of the tent, tossing Cas’ army jacket towards him before pulling on his own. It wasn’t made for this type of weather, but it was better than bare arms, and Daryl tugged his vest on over top of it for good measure.

“This is insane,” Castiel mused, looking outside the mesh window with wide eyes as he pulled his boots on, “Daryl, there’s like a foot of snow out there, and it’s still coming down!” He unzipped and darted outside the tent like a giddy child before Daryl even had his shoes on, laughing as his feet crunched in the snow, “It’s gorgeous! Come on, you have to see it!”

Daryl heard him loud and clear, listening to the sound of his feet as he stepped through the banks around their firepit, but he didn’t leave the tent. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even chance a look outside. He was too busy staring at the pieces of paper sticking out from underneath Castiel’s bag.

He knew those sheets of paper on sight. He knew their size, their shape and the sweeping script scrawled across their surface. Daryl sat with baited breath, not knowing exactly what to make of them, but not wanting Castiel to know that he had discovered what he clearly was trying to hide. He listened for Cas to round the firepit before he snatched the papers up, quickly noting the name “Djinn” written across the top of the first page and shoving them into his jacket pocket.

Castiel had lied to him last night. He had looked him in the eye and told Daryl he didn’t know what happened to those pages, that he didn’t know what the missing entry had been. But here they were, crammed underneath his bag, shoved so haphazardly they were torn and crumpled, like he had done it in a hurry so Daryl wouldn’t notice.

Why? Daryl couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t the first time Cas had lied to him… but it was the first time he had succeeded. Castiel was a notoriously bad liar, so horrible in fact that the entire camp had learned that his tactless honesty was much more preferential to his obvious, painful to listen to attempts to fudge the truth. He couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag, and definitely not to Daryl. 

He knew all Castiel’s tics, and what to look for. He knew that Cas had a habit of playing with the sleeves and hems of his clothes when he lied, and would refuse to look you in the eye. He also lowered his voice slightly, and spoke a fraction slower, as if he were mulling over his words before saying them out loud. Thinking back to last night, Castiel had done none of those things. He had been completely normal, so generically Cas that Daryl never would have thought in a million years that he was lying to him.

And why would he lie? That was the burning question. Castiel knew what had happened to Daryl in the woods, and he must have thought this Djinn creature was a viable suspect if he went out of his way to keep the information from him. But Daryl couldn’t put his finger on the logic behind Castiel’s decision. He had been psychically attacked by it (whatever it was, a Djinn maybe) last night, and for some reason Cas still thought it was necessary to physically tear these sheets out of John’s journal and hide them away from him.

Castiel had never hidden something from Daryl that would cause him harm before, bodily or otherwise. He wasn’t capable of it: Cas was the man who was nearly despondent after _almost_ shooting Daryl in the foot, by accident, with his crossbow when Daryl had tried to teach him how to shoot. He was the same person who had apologized for days after he shrunk one of Daryl’s favorite shirts. There was no way that Castiel, _his_ Castiel, would keep something like this from him if there was even the possibility Daryl could be hurt by it.

 _That’s because he’s not yours_.

The thought came sudden, unbidden in a voice that wasn’t his own, and his head ached with it, pounding from the inside out and he hunched over with a pained groan, clutching his forehead in one hand. He flashed back to a moment on the highway, the I-85, where Castiel had left the Impala early in the morning, while Daryl was still sleeping soundly. He hadn’t woken up in Daryl’s arms, so he hadn’t awkwardly panicked as he waited for the negative reaction from Daryl that never came. He hadn’t beamed a flustered, elated smile after Daryl kissed him up against the passenger door. They made up and were cordial, but carried on in their awful stasis, not knowing where they stood with one another, not able to be together but unable to stay apart.

A sharp ringing cut through his skull, from temple to temple and he muffled an agonizing groan into the crook of his arm, grasping weakly at the side of his head with one hand. That memory was false and he knew it. A horrible dream that never came true. Castiel was real, he was whole and he was there with him. They had a life, as dysfunctional and harrowing as it may be, together. If he was hiding these pages, if he was lying to Daryl, then there must have been a good reason.

“Are you coming or not?” Castiel called from outside the tent, his voice wavering in Daryl’s ears as his vision righted itself, and he pulled up onto his hands and knees. He heard Cas walking back towards the tent, and there was something that told him steel his expression and pretend he hadn’t just had his head psychically split in two. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt it in his bones… Cas couldn’t know that whatever happened to him in the woods was still happening now.

“Yeah, just a second.” He rasped, running an unsteady hand through his hair. The pounding behind his eyes was dissipating rapidly, but he could feel the aftershocks trembling underneath his skin, erasing the memory of Castiel’s touch and replacing it with the foreign, unsettling feeling of spectral fingers crawling, poking, prodding in his skull. _Hide it, hide it, hide it_ ran like a mantra through his mind as he pushed outside, inhaling steadily through his nose and bracing himself for the cold. 

Daryl gasped, hearing Cas zip the tent behind him but not tearing his eyes away from the frozen wasteland the farm had been turned into overnight. Castiel hadn’t been exaggerating about the snow, if anything he undersold it. The deepest banks seemed to come up to his knees, and their pitiful fire had burned out under the persistent snowfall. The wind hadn’t died any from yesterday, and it whipped squalls across the empty fields, glittering tornadoes that rose and twisted from the blanketed ground. The tents and cars were covered in thin sheets of ice, and it was so cold his breath puffed a thick cloud in front of his eyes. Snow coated the treetops, and he started as another branch, this one close behind him, snapped under its unexpected weight.

“See?” Castiel said, smiling at him as he looped his arm around Daryl’s waist, “It’s perfect.”

Daryl grumbled under his breath, but he couldn’t keep from smiling back at him, throwing his arm across Castiel’s shoulders and leading them down the cow path, trying to walk in the shallowest banks so as not to send snow flying up the cuffs of his jeans. He hunched forward against the unerring wind as they walked through the fields towards the house, the exertion of walking through the snow warming him a little more every passing second. His skin radiated against the leather jacket he wore, and even though the still falling snow melted down his face in thin rivulets, chilling his cheeks and dripping from his chin, he found he was less bothered by the sudden cold, and more open to its allure.

He hated winter. His family was poor, his father routinely negligent and he could recall many months spent freezing their asses off when they couldn’t afford to heat the house. They had an old wood burning stove that did the trick in a pinch, when whatever government subsidy he dad was milking fell through, but with only him and his old man in the house, it was up to Daryl chop the firewood every single time, and he didn’t have a proper winter jacket then neither. He remembered less than fondly having to trudge out into the woods in just his worn old hiking boots, a jean jacket (with layer after layer of whatever else he could pack on underneath to keep out the cold), Merle’s old work gloves and a hatchet, locked out of the house until he managed to bring down a tree. His dad would let him chop it up in the shed at least, but the hours Daryl would spend slowly whittling down an old birch or elm in the forest would chill him to his core, sweat freezing against his skin even as he burned with the effort of hacking down a tree with the wrong tools.

He never appreciated the snow, though he knew some people thought it was magical. To him it was just an inconvenience and a sign of the long, cold months to come. When the woods were transformed and the summer coloured leaves of the forest floor were blanketed in a sea of immaculate white, rolling along the hills and valleys of familiar trails, he didn’t see a winter wonderland; he just saw an obstruction. Something that made his trek longer and more exhausting. When the streams froze over, the water still running under a thin sheet of ice, glistening like panes of warped glass in the sunlight, he didn’t find it attractive at all. It was another impediment to collecting water, and the heralding omen that their pipes were soon to freeze. He couldn’t even hunt properly in the winter, with small game hibernating like the smart little fuckers they were, and he wasn’t properly outfitted to run down a buck in the frigid wilderness without dying of exposure first. 

Cas seemed to have a different stance on it though. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Castiel staring across the fields in awe, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes and hair, the wind whipping his dark blue army jacket against his frame as he balled the cuffs around his fists, saving them from the wintry chill. The tops of his cheeks and his nose glistened with droplets of sleet, melting fast against his skin which glowed a healthy pink from the cold and their fast stride. He smiled at the whirling squalls as they leapt across their feet and Daryl heard him chuckle under his breath as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds, metamorphosing the open fields into an ocean of luminous waves, cresting along the stakes of fences, ice glittering from their thin wire strings. Castiel was entranced it, drawn into the peace that seemed to fall over the farm, the rest of their group locked away in the house, no walkers in sight as quiet serenity overtook them.

Daryl might not be able to appreciate the snow, but he certainly could see that appreciation in Cas.  

“You’ve seen snow before, right?” And when Castiel turned to him with his brow raised, Daryl hastened to clarify, “I mean, as a human? You’ve been here for three years; you must have seen snow.”

“Of course,” Cas said, walking in time with Daryl as they carefully stepped down the cow path, their feet kicking up powder, “I was in Sioux Falls for almost all of my mortal life, and we got a lot of snow there. Chitaqua was sort of nestled in the woods, very secluded and hard to get to, so it made going on runs difficult in the winter months, but it also made it safer. The Croats had to work harder to get to us, and it was easier to fortify the base.”

“Dean hated the snow, because he wasn’t able to leave on runs as often, and there was always the chance we would get snowed in.” His voice took on a distant, wistful tone as it often did when he talked about the Winchesters, or his first years as a human. Reaching the scant distance between them, Daryl urged Castiel’s fingers out of his sleeves, intertwining them with his own and squeezing gently, Cas’ fingertips cold against his knuckles as he squeezed back, “He would start to feel stuck, and get horrible cabin fever. He turned into a real asshole in the winter, though that wasn’t really his fault. He had all of those people to provide for, and if we ever got snowed in we would certainly starve... He worried about that a lot.”

“But I love it. There’s something so magical about snow and how it takes over. It sails in and transforms the landscape, covering up everything ordinary and mundane, and makes it new. Its impermanent, always in flux and every snowfall is different from the last. Every winter is different, and for a few months out of the year we get to live in an entirely inimitable world.” Castiel laughed at his own eccentricity, shaking his head and knocking loose the crown of snowflakes that nestled in his dark hair, “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” Daryl spoke without thinking, a roaring red flush springing to his cheeks the instant the words left his mouth, and Castiel turned to him, eyebrows raised with a bemused smile stretching at his lips, speechless, but only for a moment. In his next breath, he burst into uproarious laughter, bending at the waist with one arm gripping at his side, his other hand still clutched in Daryl’s, hanging between like a lifeline.

“That was unbelievably sentimental, even for you.” Cas coughed out around fits of hysterics, nose crinkling behind his hand as he covered his mouth, hunched over and his shoulders shaking as they stumbled up the path, “What has gotten into you lately?”

“I don’t even know.” Daryl said with a smile, his cheeks still beet red as they walked up the lawn hand in hand, rounding the fence next to the RV. Now in sight of the house, he found the vehicles and tents on lock down, and the fire that would normally be slowly burning so early in the morning was barren and dead, hunks of charcoal and half burned logs now sodden and lifeless in the pit, “You just make me feel thankful. I’m happy to be here with you, and apparently that turns me into a sap.”

“You do the same for me, you know.” Castiel said softly, laughter dying into something deeply earnest.

“I do.” Daryl murmured, their words carrying in the empty, open lawn. Daryl could hear the sound of other people drifting across the field from the house, and glancing up through the window he could see shadows moving against the curtains. He heard Lori’s high, musical laugh and T-Dog’s grumbling baritone, and he saw light flickering in the windows. It looked warm and inviting, and a part of him (the part that was damn near hypothermic) wanted more than anything to run in there and warm up by the fireplace. But it seemed that they had hit a somber note, and there was an idea that had been rolling through Daryl’s head since he first stepped out of their tent, that he just could not be rid of, “I want to show you something.”

“And what’s that?” Cas asked warily, his hand falling to his side as he watched Daryl back away from him, stepping carefully to avoid any hidden ice patches on his way towards the RV. Castiel didn’t move from his spot on the lawn, flanked on either side by fence posts as he ran his hands up and down his arms, looking away for just a moment to glance up at the house. Daryl took that as his opening, darting behind the RV and out of Cas’ sight.

He was vaguely cognizant of the fact that he was a thirty-year-old man, who had no business running around in the cold, hastily cobbling together a snowball to chuck at his unsuspecting boyfriend, but he was also very aware that said boyfriend probably didn’t know what a snowball was, much less a snowball fight. That same boyfriend was also newly human, and as such he had a habit of being intensely enamoured by all things human, large or small, as well as a competitive streak a mile long. And though he knew that they should probably be heading inside to join the group, and that if anyone happened to look out the window and saw what he was going to do next, they would probably think he was being incredibly childish, Daryl couldn’t help but chuckle gleefully as he peeked around the side of the RV, perfectly formed snowball freezing his hands and taking aim at an unsuspecting Castiel.

His reflexes razor sharp, Castiel saw him well before he was completely out of cover, but he had no idea what Daryl was doing. He didn’t move as Daryl reeled his arm back, a look of confusion on his face that turned to bitter betrayal when the snowball was loosed, flying in a determined arc before hitting him square in the chest. Cas stared down sullenly, watching with a curious tilt of his head as the snowball exploded against the front of his jacket, before raising a brow and looking up at Daryl, forehead creased and hands spread out at his sides as he waited for an explanation.

“It’s a game, Cas.” Daryl said as he bent down to pick up more snow, forming it into a ball after he was sure he had Castiel’s attention, showing him how. He held the perfectly formed snowball in the palm of one hand, holding it out for Cas to see.

Castiel didn’t seem to understand the objective, nor the point, “A game where you throw snow at me?”

“Where we throw snow at _each other_.” Daryl bounced the snow in his hand, his fingers going numb as it began to melt. He stepped closer, unsure of how to explain something so commonplace to someone so peculiar, “It’s called a snowball fight, you throw snow at each other until someone gives up. Throw the most snow and hold out the longest, and you win.”

He watched understanding sweep across Castiel’s whole body, his shoulders tightening as he stood up straight, ears perking up the instant he heard the words “fight” and “win.” He saw Cas’ confounded pout twist into a wicked grin in a matter of seconds, and Daryl barely had time to move before Castiel was darting to his left, sprinting through the snow and kicking up powder in his wake as he dove behind a large oak tree.

Daryl threw the ball he was holding in an overhand swing, but he was too slow, catching only empty space as it exploded against the ground. “You’re going to have to be faster than that!” Castiel called from behind the tree, and Daryl clicked his tongue when he realized he was right. I might be outmatched, he thought to himself as he ran behind a large blue tent, skidding in the snow as he fell to his knees, hastily stitching together a small pile of snowballs. His reflexes were impeccable, he could locate and bring down a target in the blink of an eye, but Cas was a soldier of subterfuge, trained to be completely invisible if the situation called for it. He was wily when he wanted to be, his movements infuriatingly feline, to the point where Daryl had lost track of him once or twice while taking out walkers in the woods. He’d have to work smart, and make every second count if he was going to get the jump on him.

There was another tent to his right, and he knew that Cas ran behind the oak tree, nowhere to go but towards the house, so with a snowball in each hand he leapt to his feet and made a break for it. Daryl managed to catch the barest glimpse of Castiel, sprinting from behind the tree towards the picnic bench beside it, but again he wasn’t quick enough, one of Cas’ snowballs slamming into his shoulder before he could throw his own. Twisting with the impact, Daryl lined up his shot, hurling his own across the lawn, so certain he had him as the snowball flew at its target. But at the last second, just as Daryl was stooping behind the next tent he saw Castiel duck, the snowball flying over his head as he crouched behind the picnic table.

This isn’t going to work, Daryl mused, he was too far away and he didn’t stand a chance if he had to wait for Cas to make the first move each time. He had to flank him, and with a deep breath Daryl ran, tearing across the lawn towards the oak tree Castiel was first hiding behind. He was wide open and he knew it, but at least he knew exactly where Cas was, and he twisted out of the way of his snowball as it whizzed towards him, skirting his chest but not making contact. He heard Castiel curse under his breath, and he couldn’t help but laugh, pressing his back up against the tree as he readied his next snowball.

Peeking out from behind the tree, Daryl glanced towards the picnic table, not surprised at all to find Castiel was long gone. “Where you hiding, magpie?” he called, chancing another look but not finding anything that suggested which direction he had gone off to. There were three trees surrounding the picnic table, and he couldn’t see footprints near or around any of them… which meant he had to have run across the lawn, over to the tents or up the porch.

Rounding the tree, Daryl kept his stance low, trying to keep an eye out for movement and Castiel’s tracks, when a handful of powdery snow was unceremoniously dumped down the back of his jacket. With an ungainly squawk, he flailed backwards, his back hitting Castiel’s chest and pinning the other man to the oak tree, knocking the breath out of Cas with an audible gasp.

“You little shit!” Daryl choked out with a laugh, shaking from the sudden cold as he whirled around. Holding Castiel against the tree with his hips, Daryl mushed the snowball in his hand down Cas’ sweater. Cursing, Castiel grappled at his hands, trying to push them off but Daryl quickly overpowered him, pinning his wrists beside his head and leaning in close, noses brushing as they both caught their breath.

“So, my win then?” Castiel quipped, laughing as Daryl nipped at his nose in reprimand, “You’re the one forcing me to stop. I take it that means you give up?”

“Sure, let’s call it yours.” Daryl murmured, pressing into Castiel just a little more and feeling him go lax against the tree, supported by the weight of Daryl’s hips, “Even if you cheated.”

“I don’t see how I cheated.” Castiel said, mockingly offended, “You said throw snow at each other, you didn’t say how or where.” He seemed to think about it, biting at his lower lip as he considered his sodden sweater, “Though I will admit, it is unpleasant.”

“So, snowball fights.” Daryl freed Cas’ wrists, letting him pull his hands back into his sleeves and ball up the cuffs in his fists as he held them to his chest, “Essential human experience, or a pass?”

“Well if they all end like this?” Running his eyes up and down the negligible space between them, from their flush hips to their almost touching noses, Cas smiled lopsidedly before closing the distance between them, kissing Daryl chastely, “Definitely essential.” When he pulled away, Cas ran his covered hands up and down Daryl’s arms, trying to work some warmth into his decidedly chilly limbs, “We should probably head in though, before we freeze to death. I think I’m colder now than I was before.”

“Yeah, sweatin’ in the snow will do that.” Daryl agreed, his fingers nearly frozen as they gripped at Castiel’s hips, pushing back off him and looking over his shoulder at the house. The curtain was parted, and he saw as Carol glanced outside for a moment, catching sight of them out by the tree before she retreated, “But you’re right, and we’re probably going to have company soon. Want to go warm up by the fire?”

Cas was all too ready for that it seemed, already walking towards the porch before Daryl could catch up.

Approaching the house he took the porch steps two at a time, darting in front of Castiel and swinging the door open in one swift motion. The wind picked up and took it from him at the last second however, ripping it from his hands and slamming it against the wall, only for it to slip backwards on its own, the hinges creaking shrilly.

 _A moonshiner’s cabin in the forest, an old oak door and iron hinges. Creak-_ slam _! Creak-_ slam _!_

Like he had been punched in the gut, Daryl folded in two, slapping a hand against his forehead as a high-pitched, angry scream tore through his head and pounded. It lasted for only a moment, but it tore a pained gasp from his throat, and he felt his eyes burning with it as Cas ran up to help him, someone he couldn’t see closing the front door. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, worry obvious in his voice and Daryl could almost see his panicked expression, though his eyes were tightly shut. His hands on Daryl’s shoulders, Castiel led him through the room, and the rest of the folks who had been milling about and chatting jovially parted like the sea, making way for him to sit with a heavy sigh on the couch. All conversation had died as he walked in, and all he could hear was the shuffling of feet, some scattered whispers and the sound of his own breathing.

“I’m alright, its just—” Daryl breathed deep, opening his eyes only a crack and meeting Cas’ nervous gaze, “it’s just a migraine.”

“Here.” And that was Hershel, holding out a glass of water and a small red pill that Daryl eyed warily, “It’s just a painkiller, it should help.”

With a nod of thanks, Daryl took both in hand, and held the pill to his lips. He was about to toss it in his mouth, when a cursory look around revealed that everyone in the room was watching him. Not obviously, they had mostly all gone back to their individual conversations, but out of the corner of their eyes they snuck hasty glances. They were looking over their shoulders when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, and their eyes pricked like needles as he moved the pill away from his lips, clutching it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, considering it.

 _Hours in the woods, wandering alone. Creak-_ slam _!_

He winced, but didn’t close his eyes as his head throbbed. This pain, the screeching and the headaches, they had only started when he was alone in the woods. And before that he was out there for hours, wandering alone in the forest… not eating anything. And before that, hadn’t Castiel insisted he drink that coffee? And Sophia, she brought him breakfast. Cas had brought him Red Vines last night and that was all Daryl had to eat since, the headaches staved off until that morning. And now that they were back, Hershel was handing him this pill with no hesitation. Like he had it in his pocket, anticipating that Daryl would need it.

Like he had planned to give it all along.

_Your dream is mirroring reality._

Schooling his expression, Daryl mimed tossing the pill into his mouth, letting it slide down his palm and into his sleeve before taking a few large gulps of water. He handed it back to Hershel with a quiet “thank you”, and as he adjusted his seat on the couch he let the pill slip from his sleeve between the cushions.

He held his breath, scanning the room surreptitiously, looking for any sign someone had seen his sleight of hand, and he released it quietly when he noticed everyone was back to normal. No one was watching him, and he leaned back against the sofa, forgotten and glad for it.

Why did I do that? Daryl wondered, smiling reassuringly at Castiel as he patted his thigh and walked into the kitchen, leaving Daryl on the couch alone. Was he seriously considering that this group of people, that _Castiel_ would drug him? That they were somehow anticipating, and staving off these debilitating headaches? It didn’t make sense. But he was so convinced, in his heart he just knew he couldn’t take that pill.

What the hell was happening to him?

His head still pounded, and it was only getting worse, but he forced himself to maintain his composure as he looked around the living room, at the familiar group of people gathered around, basking in the fire’s warmth. Lori, Rick and Carl were sitting all together on the loveseat, chatting quietly with contended expressions. Carol, Otis and Patricia were speaking with Andrea, as Sophia sat plastered to her mother’s side. Shane, Dale and T-Dog were having a good natured debate, and the Greens and Glenn were discussing something at the kitchen table. They all looked happy, warm and healthy, content despite the sudden ice and cold, and Daryl had to force himself to smile when Carol caught his eye.

“Here,” Castiel said gently, holding out a cup of coffee towards Daryl as he sat down beside him, a worried look on his face, “it might be a caffeine headache, come to think of it.”

Daryl took the mug and pretended to drink from it. He even gave a pretend grimace, knowing if he drank it without making some mention of how awful he knew it had to be, Cas would grow suspicious. Somehow.

“Rick,” Daryl said suddenly, lifting his arm as Castiel sunk into his side and wrapping it around his shoulders, “what are we going to do about this storm? It don’t seem to be letting up, we should probably make a run into town while we can, right?”

Rick smiled down at his son, who was perched in his lap and seemingly reading a book. Carl’s side was still bandaged but he looked so much better, the colour was back in his cheeks and his eyes were brighter than they’d been in weeks. Still, Rick and Lori had both been reluctant to leave his side or let him out of their sights, and the instant Daryl mentioned going on a run Lori looked over at her husband, pleading silently that he wouldn’t leave. “No, I don’t think we need to worry about that just yet.” He said plainly, and Lori reached out to take a hold of his hand, her mood lifting and a smile on her face, “We’ve got enough food and water to last us a while, and firewood to spare. I think it’d be safer to stick out the storm, better than drivin’ in the snow. Ain’t no plows out anymore, the roads will be treacherous.”

“Ain’t that all the more reason to go now, ‘fore it gets any worse?” Daryl asked disbelievingly, and he felt Castiel tense up underneath his arm. Rick was acting strange, that much he was sure. He was calmer nowadays than he had been on the road, as after the C.D.C. he was a wound up tighter than a spring, ready to snap at any given second. He was better now that they had found a place to settle down, but he still liked to be prepared. Daryl knew they weren’t anywhere near ready to deal with winter weather and snow, there was so much they had to do, and yet Rick was saying they should wait? Not to worry? It didn’t sit right with him.

“We need to weatherize the barn, get some generators out there so the cows don’t freeze.” Daryl offered, watching Rick’s face closely and waiting for a shift in his expression. A sign that he understood what Daryl was saying, some kind of recognition that they were actually in a crisis, “And what about winter clothes? We ain’t got no jackets, scarves, gloves… what are we goin’ to do when the firewood runs out, or we need to collect water and the pump is frozen? We can’t just be sittin’ around with our thumbs up our asses, we need to get prepared.”

“Daryl, you’re scaring the children.” Lori said, pulling Carl from his father’s lap and onto her own. Carol was holding Sophia as well, who was looking over at him like she might cry, “Rick’s right, we can’t risk sending people out in the snow, what if you get stuck in town? Or crash somewhere on the highway? We can’t risk that.”

“Well what about the rest then? How long have the animals been out there with no heat? Do we even have any generators?” Castiel ran a soothing hand up and down his thigh, trying to calm him down but it was no use. Daryl was incensed, completely floored that no one in their entire group saw how quickly this situation could spiral out of control. Being without power and running water in the middle of a snowstorm was dangerous enough before the world ended, and now they had walkers to contend with, “There’s work to do, and we’re wasting daylight.”

Everyone was watching him obviously now, eyes on him as he grit his teeth in frustration. All conversation ground to a halt as Daryl stared across the room at Rick, leaning forward in his seat and pulling away from Castiel. The silence was thick, no one daring to break it, observing as Rick ruminated on Daryl’s suggestion, chewing his lip thoughtfully before finally shaking his head. “We can get to it soon, don’t worry about it.” Rick said, and it was decided. The rest of the group, still watching Daryl warily, went back to what they were doing and Daryl leaned back into the couch, not believing what he was hearing and shaking his head as Rick carried on, “It’s still early, I’m sure everything will be fine. Hershel’s people are going to take care of the animals, and we can get to organizing and bringing everyone inside in a little while. Just relax.”

With a huff, Daryl slammed the mug of coffee down on the side table and stood abruptly. There was no way he was just going to sit around doing nothing, while everyone else apparently suffered a collective loss of sanity. There was too much they had to accomplish in one day for them to be sitting around, drinking cocoa by the fucking fire, singing kumbaya like there wasn’t a massive cold front rolling in, and already two feet of snow outside. Castiel’s hand dropped from his thigh as Daryl stepped out of the room, his head still pounding but bearably now, like someone inflating a balloon behind his forehead, and he heard Cas apologise for him as he ducked into the bathroom down the hall, locking the door behind him.

Certain there was no other way inside, he took a seat on the lip of the bathtub, fishing the journal entry from his pocket and smoothing it against the scratched ceramic surface. There was something going on, from the headaches to the odd behaviour he knew something was amiss, and he was certain that whatever it was, he would find it in those pages. He had to be fast: there was only so long he could sit in there before Castiel would come to check on him, so flattening the papers on his thighs, he began reading about Djinn.

“Poisons victims with a touch, causing reality-altering hallucinations. Can tell a person's deepest desire.” Daryl murmured under his breath, reading aloud to himself in the solitude of the chilly bathroom, the heat from the fire not reaching the back of the house. Balancing the pages on his knees, he rubbed his palms up and down his freezing thighs, trying to work some heat into his bones, “They feed on human blood… leaving victims in a coma-like state to feed over a long period of time.” He winced and shook his head, “What is with these monsters and killing people slowly?”

“Can be killed with a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood,” Daryl frowned, looking thoughtfully out the window towards the barn, “They have lamb here. And the Impala probably has silver weapons in the trunk, but...”

Something’s not adding up, he thought with a frustrated groan, holding his head in his hands, his elbows pressing into his knees, flanking the sheets of paper. He shook his head, shoving the pages back in his pocket as he opened the door to the hallway. He was getting nowhere on his own, and the person who could clear up a great deal of it was…

Standing on the other side of the door, with his fist held in the air, poised to knock before Daryl opened it on him.

Looking at Cas in that moment, really looking at him, separated only by the frame of the bathroom door, it was like a switch flipped in Daryl's mind. He looks so real, Daryl thought to himself as he took in his soft, open face. His blue eyes, just as wide and sad as they ever were, beautiful even as he frowned. The pursed curve of his lips. The high bridge of his slender nose, and the sharp jut of his cheekbones. Every detail was there, every part of it a perfect facsimile of _his_ Cas, but it wasn’t _him._ This Cas was open and unburdened, the weight of his guilt and loss not hanging over him like a black cloud. He was Daryl’s in body and mind, but the little triggers, the little pieces that made him noticeably _wrong_ were what he was lacking. There was no notion of Castiel's telltale anxiety, his insecurity, or his brash single mindedness that drove Daryl mental. He was all of the good and none of the bad, not one negative quality was present in this replication of his lover and Daryl knew suddenly that this couldn’t be his Castiel. He couldn’t hold a candle to his Cas.

He was too faultless.

He was an illusion.

 _Creak_ -slam _!_

Shoving Castiel out of the way and ignoring his grunt of protest, Daryl stormed into the living room, looking around at all the faces there, suddenly staring right at him. Sitting in various degrees of rest and relaxation, chumming around like they hadn’t all lost their families, their lives. Like there wasn’t a legion of dead monsters storming towards there home at any given moment. Like they all got along with one another. Andrea and Dale were being so amicable; Lori and Shane were speaking like old friends… it was all _wrong._

“This is the dream.” Daryl said aloud, his eyes wide and his fingers digging into the meat of his thighs, “All of this is. None of you are real.”

The ringing in his head crested almost unbearably, but he grit his teeth against it, flattening himself up against the far wall and knocking an old oil painting to the ground. Daryl darted his gaze around the room, watching with wide eyes as a few people rose to their feet, either moving away or stepping closer to him. Lori and Carol took their kids into the kitchen with the rest of their scattered group, leaving Daryl backed up against the paisley wallpaper, eyes darting between Rick and Shane as they approached him slowly. His eyes felt like they were bulging from his skull, and that ungodly screeching was back at full force. Daryl fought to keep his feet, pressing most of his weight against the wall, his vision swimming as he felt blood trickle from his right ear and down his neck.

“Daryl, what are you talking about?” Castiel asked, rounding the corner from the hall with one hand held out in front of him, palm out in a gesture of reassurance, “Of course we’re real. This is all real.” He frowned thoughtfully, “I think your migraines are getting to you. Please, let me help you back down to the couch—”

Daryl didn’t stop to think, and instead pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans, holding it out level to Castiel’s chest.

“Don’t come any closer.” Daryl croaked, grimacing and holding his free hand to his face, digging the heel of his palm into his temple. His head felt like it would split in two, and as Castiel stood there, staring at him with a look of hurt and betrayal that twisted his heart painfully, he heard Rick and Shane both pull their weapons, felt the weight of their barrels through the scant feet between them as they took aim. “This isn’t real man, I know it’s not.” He said, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily through the pain, “You hid the Djinn pages, Cas! You hid them because you didn’t want me to know, because you aren't real! You're a figment of a magically induced hallucination. I’m being held by a Djinn right now, aren’t I?! I’m back in that cabin, I’m strung up and being bled like a fucking pig, and you know it!”

As Cas stuttered, fumbling for an answer, he turned the gun on Rick, who was slowly approaching him with his colt raised, and stopped him in his tracks. “I remember. I remember the cabin I’m being held in, that's why I keep seeing it everywhere. I remember the Djinn too, jumping me in the woods.” Daryl spoke quickly, brokenly. His skull was pounding from the inside out and he was certain he was shouting, trying to speak over the ringing in his head that only he could hear, “We aren’t together Cas. We tried but it didn't work, and we still… sometimes we still have sex but we aren’t like _this._ I’m too much of a coward for this, man I can barely talk to you in front of the group! Ain't no way I'd have the balls to sit with my arm around you, call you stupid pet names in front of all these people, I'd lose my damn mind!”

“And Carl… he’s still bedridden, he just got shot for Christs sake!” The memories flooded towards him in a rush, sweeping aside everything the Djinn dream had tried to feed him as reality, and he couldn’t stop shouting them as they came, “Sophia's still missing, Otis is dead!”

“Stop.”

Castiel stepped forward as his wavering voice reached Daryl through his tirade, still reaching towards him, still trying to reign him in but now Cas was crying, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and his nose reddening as he spoke. “This is real, please stop.” Daryl jerked backwards, but he had nowhere to go, only hitting the wall harder as Castiel laid his hand atop his arm, “All of that was just a dream. I hid the Djinn pages because I didn’t want you to worry… baby, you’ve been out of it for weeks. Forgetting things, remembering stuff that has never happened. You keep thinking your dreams are real, and I knew that if you found out about Djinn, you would jump to this conclusion” He was pleading with Daryl now, both hands clutching to his arm, tugging his hand away from his temple, “You’re confused, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Please, give me the gun and I promise we’ll work it out!”

_Daryl, you have to fight it._

Above the noise, the horrible, screeching sound, he heard a distant and familiar voice. Castiel’s voice, his real voice.

_Please, you have to wake up._

_Creak-_ slam _!_

Behind Castiel, the front door opened on its own, and though Daryl’s vision was blurred and hazy, he could see that the door had changed. Old oak and iron. Slipping open just a crack before slamming against its frame with the force of an unfeeling wind.

_I need you, Daryl I can’t do this without you._

_Alone in the woods in a moonshiners cabin._

“There's one way to be sure.” Daryl murmured, not taking his eyes off of the door as he turned the gun on himself, pressing the cold metal barrel to his temple, “If you are about to die in a dream, you wake up, right?”

_I need you here with me._

“This isn’t a dream!” Castiel cried, but Daryl pushed him back, holding up a finger to stop him and he didn’t dare approach him again. Rick and Shane both stood still, sharing pleading looks and planning their next move without saying a word, and Lori clutched Carl tight to her chest, shielding his eyes as the rest of the room watched in stunned silence, “Think about it, just for a moment. Why the hell would there still be walkers Daryl? If the Djinn gave you your wish, if we're all living in your dreamworld, why is the world still ending? Why did Carl still get shot?" Castiel choked on a sob, his hand hovering in front of him, desperate to reach out and touch but not willing to risk it, "This is real, and you’re going to kill yourself! If you do this, you’ll just die, please! I can't lose you now, what will it take to make you believe me?”

_You’re so strong, you can do this, please._

The door swung open just an inch wider, and outside Daryl saw that the world as he knew it was gone. In its place was a wild, swirling miasma, shot through with a bright, golden light that looked so familiar, that felt like home. “I do believe you.” Daryl murmured, sliding his finger along the trigger and taking a deep, centering breath, the ringing in his head dissipating as he squeezed gently, “I believe the real you. And you’re waiting for me.”

_Wake up._

_Creak_ -slam _!_


	21. Chestlehurst Road, in Real Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oy, this was a long one! I ended up having to split it in two, so the second half of the great Daryl rescue will be up in a few days, once I'm finished with editing!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for the comments and kudos! I love hearing from you all!

“Where’s Daryl?” Castiel asked as he walked up to the campfire, shivering and pulling his sweater tighter around him. It was already dark, the sun setting earlier as the days grew shorter, the wind picking up nightly and chilling him to the bone.  

It was only the tail end of summer, but it was getting cold fast, another unwanted side-effect of Lucifer walking the earth. The seasons would change slowly, over time, until there was no rhyme or reason for it. Until summer bled into winter, and spring and autumn died in-between. They would be able to grow no crops outside, but humans had mastered hydroponics long ago. Chitaqua had a burgeoning greenhouse, for example… they could make do. It didn’t mean he appreciated the sudden cold snaps and the bees dying, though.

“I don’t know, he hasn’t been here that’s for sure.” Carol said from her spot by the fire, poking at the logs with a long branch to stoke it, “That’s not very surprising though, he hadn’t been feeling all that sociable lately. Did you check his tent?”

“Yeah, I just came from there.” Cas murmured, smiling as he took a plate of food from her hands and thanked her. He sat down beside her, crossing his legs and trying not to let the worry show on his face, “I hope he’s not still out in the woods.”

“Would it surprise you if he was?” She asked softly, nudging him in the ribs with a small, world weary grin, “He’s been out there scouring the forest for weeks now. And you know I appreciate it, my little girl…” Carol breathed deep, her brow furrowing as she spoke of Sophia, still lost for what was going to be three weeks the next day, “Daryl’s done more for her than her daddy ever did in his whole life. He’s been risking his life, staying out well past dark to find her. But we can’t lose him too, okay? So, when he gets back, you give him hell for me.”

Castiel ducked his head as he laughed, “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only person on god’s green earth he listens to.” His cheeks heated as soon as the words left her mouth, a bright red flush sweeping across his face and down his neck, which he hoped the firelight would be enough to hide. Carol leaned over, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezing as she spoke, “And you worry for him too.”

“He should be back by now, shouldn’t he?” Castiel said softly, watching the embers crackle in the fire pit.

“He will be, you just have to be patient.”

Castiel grimaced at the mention of patience. It was a virtue, one in which his father had placed a good deal of importance, and one that he never seemed to get the hang of. As an angel he was bad at it, getting into trouble on numerous occasions only because he couldn’t seem to wait. There were specific instances where his sibling’s lives had hung in the balance, or where the fate of the world rest on him biding his time that he managed to be patient, but ever since he was a fledgling he struggled with it. He constantly needed to be moving, and if there was a problem he needed to fix it right away. He was not a wait-and-see kind of being.

As a human, it only got worse (it was always worse when emotions were involved, he was learning). He couldn’t sit still for a moment, not even to save his life. Now, instead of intrinsically knowing that he had to just swoop in and deal with whatever dilemma might be accosting his friends and family immediately, he also had a slew of pleasantly nasty feelings to go along with it. Guilt, should something go awry and he could have prevented it. Fear, should someone he cares for get hurt. Worry, and a feeling that there is always something he should be doing. And his favorite, ever present bullheaded stubbornness, that told him there was nothing worth waiting for.

Needless to say, patience was not a virtue Castiel was ever representative of.

In this instance though, he knew Carol was right. It wouldn’t do to work the camp up into a panic, or set out in the middle of the night on his own, to search for Daryl in the pitch-black woods. Knowing his luck, he would grab his gear and head out into the trees, only for Daryl to saunter into camp like it was no big deal. It wasn’t the first time Daryl had stayed out past nightfall anyways, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Not until they found Sophia.  

It had been weeks since she had gone missing, and they left the gridlocked highway behind to take up residence on Hershel’s farm. Weeks of non-stop searching and planning, the entire camp completely focused on that one task. Rick was out there often, as was Shane and T-Dog on occasion, Glenn when he was able.

Rick did as much as he could, but he had the unenviable task of convincing Hershel to let them stay the winter on his farm (which he did not seem all that partial to), as well as a son who was slowly recovering from a shot to the gut, so he could only go so far away from the farm. Shane was… having a hard time, to put it mildly. Ever since he the incident at the C.D.C. between him and Lori, he had been distant and after Otis died right in front of him, when they went to get Carl’s ventilator, he had been downright combative. He was angry, he thought they were wasting time and he truly believed that Sophia was already dead, so he would only donate so much of his time to wandering through the woods. T-Dog had zero sense of direction, and Glenn was constantly on runs, so that left Cas and Daryl, beating their way through the woods during the day and planning obsessively what their next moves were at night.

Truth be told, Castiel reluctantly agreed with Shane (though he would never say so out loud). He had been around a long, long time and he had seen his fair share of missing children. Countless faces spread on milk cartons across America, children taken or lost from their homes and families, and that was only in the last century. She was a young girl who never had to fend for herself and was always under the watchful, caring eye of her mother. She had no knowledge of how to survive in the woods alone, and she had no way to defend herself against the walkers that were no doubt hunting her. If she hadn’t already turned, then she was either dead from exposure or dehydration. As much as it pained him to admit it, Castiel knew in his heart that Sophia was gone.

But Daryl… oh, he would not give up.

There was something going on there, Castiel could see it. Daryl took Sophia’s disappearance so personally, and he was the first one to jump to Rick’s aid when he came back empty handed to the highway. He took charge of the search, carving out a niche for himself in the group and he spending every waking moment worrying for that girl. The similarities between Daryl and Sophia were clear to him: two children from abusive homes, lost and alone in the woods. He would never say it, and god help Cas if he ever broached the subject to his face, but Daryl saw so much of himself in that little girl. So much, that Castiel would hazard to guess he was trying to find himself as much as he was Sophia.

How then could Castiel tell him to give up? To let him know this search was fruitless, that as much as he loved that little girl, he knew she was already gone? The rest of the camp tried, even Carol once attempted to broach the subject with him, and Daryl had only looked at her like she had lost her mind. Every time someone tried to tell him he was wasting his time and putting himself in a needless amount of danger, it was like he thought they were giving up on him personally, and that got his guard up, setting his defenses on overdrive. The last thing Castiel wanted was to make him feel like he was worth less than he actually was, or that he was unimportant. Daryl trusted him more than anyone else, and if he were to let on that he thought Sophia was already gone, it would devastate him.

Things were already so touch and go between them the past few weeks. They weren’t together, but they weren’t quite apart. Ever since their night in the seniors home back in Atlanta, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. Sneaking out in the woods, on runs or in Daryl’s tent well past sundown when no one else was awake, they would tear at each other in secret, clawing their way under the others skin like animals, desperate to be close but too afraid to be open.

Daryl was getting better around the rest of the group during the day, that much was evident in his ability to talk to Castiel one on one without hiding behind a mask of indifference, and they spent a lot of long hour’s together working to find Sophia, but he was nowhere near ready to come out. And Cas refused to hide away with him. He didn’t trust himself not to get too emotionally invested, and he stuck by his decision to not let himself be burned again, for his sake and for Daryl’s. They were good friends, and he wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, promising himself he wouldn’t wander into a situation where he might start to resent Daryl, and poison what they had.

They were just friends… who just happened to have sex on a regular basis.

No strings attached sex, where they would part in the end and carry on as if none of it meant anything.

Until someone said something frivolously stupid like “I love you,” or “I miss you,” or even “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

Then it became something of an ordeal, but at least those times were few and far between.

Except that they weren’t, and they happened on a pretty regular basis.

But that was fine, they still managed to keep it civil, especially around the group. They could interact comfortably, as if they had a completely platonic, in no way romantic relationship and no one was the wiser.

Except it was clear they weren’t in a completely platonic, in no way romantic relationship when Daryl slipped up and called him “magpie” within earshot of Andrea (his new favorite pet name for Castiel because, as Daryl so eloquently put it “You’re smart, you talk a lot and you inexplicably like to steal useless crap”), causing her to give them a sickly-sweet look that Castiel had to distract Daryl from.

It was plain as day when Castiel took Daryl’s weapons without even asking, oiling his bowstrings and sharpening his knives by the fire at night (just to make life a little easier for him). Daryl’s cheeks had flushed a deep, embarrassed red when Shane made a teasing comment about it, insinuating something mildly sexist about wives and chores, leaving Daryl to storm off in a huff and Shane whispering an unsteady apology across to the fire to Castiel.

No, they weren’t together.

Except that they obviously were.

They just didn’t talk about it.

It was a dilemma Castiel didn’t have the solution to. There was no quick fix, no end in sight, and the only thing to do was to be patient (there’s that word again) and wait for Daryl to smarten up. That had been the only option all along, as it was clear Castiel didn’t have the strength of will nor the foresight to stay away… and truth be told he didn’t want to. It had gotten easier the longer they were together in secret, and there was now this unspoken agreement between them and the rest of the group, that even though everyone knew what was going on between them they were never to speak of it. It made the distance bearable, made restricting their interactions to friendly, platonic gestures endurable if they could steal longing glances during the day, trade coy touches out of sight of the camp and hurried nights of intoxicating need, drowning in the motions of each others bodies as they sequestered themselves on the outskirts of the farm.

Castiel held to the fact that he was not getting emotionally invested, but in his heart, he knew he was in too deep the moment he begged Daryl to take him, on the cold chapel floor back in Atlanta. To Daryl’s credit, he had warned him. “There’s no coming back from this,” he’d said, showing valiant restraint even as Castiel was throwing himself at him, and he was right. There was no coming back.

When they left the quarry, they had suffered such a clean break… Andrea ripped the bandage off for them, and they both realized that there wasn’t a way to reconcile their relationship with the group if they insisted on keeping it a secret. They managed to find a common ground in the C.D.C., missing the friendship and emotional closeness they had garnered during their time together enough to look past the insistent longing for one another. But that night, when Daryl came to him bearing gifts and companionship, patching over the deep and unerring hole left in his heart from the loss of Jacqui and their safety in the bunker, still suffering from their close brush with death and no idea what to do next, Castiel needed him. He needed Daryl to take control, just one more time and help him forget for a moment where and who he was. To fill in the gaps of his own self-worth and his feelings of uselessness with something so primal and human, a closeness he had only ever known with Daryl.

Because it was never just sex with him. It was always something more, Castiel pondered on his way to Daryl’s (still empty) tent that night. Even from their very first time it felt different. There was an instant attraction between them, that much was obvious but when Daryl kissed him for the first time he had felt lighter, more peaceful than he ever had in his time as a human, at least as a sober human. It was as if for a moment he could forget about all his mistakes, about setting the devil loose on the planet and falling from grace. He could forget his mortality and his pain, and just immerse himself in the feel of this brilliant man beneath his palms, who smelled like sunshine and the open road, and held him like he was made of glass, like he was something precious.

And over time, that feeling of momentary peace grew into something more profound and uncontainable. It was no longer just about losing himself in another person’s body, it was about the burgeoning affection he felt for Daryl, and the very real, very physical ways he could express it. No longer were their nights together solely about attraction and desire, but showing how much they cared about each other, and feeling it in the way Daryl would glide his lips over every part of him, pulling Cas so close with such power behind his grasp, reigned in with a tenderness he couldn’t put into words.

They learned to speak through touch and subtle glances, showing the depth of their love for one another in seclusion, and almost without their realizing it slowly bled out into their day to day lives. It was their undoing in the end, the delicate language they created between them not as undecipherable as they had initially thought, tipping the rest of the camp off to their affair.

But that was what Castiel missed the most. As much as he liked to hide or deny it, Daryl was the wordsmith of the two of them. He had centuries of poets and authors words rattling in his head, having spent his childhood immersed in books as a reprieve from reality and he could pick through them in a heartbeat, having just the right words for every occasion, whether borrowed or of his own design. While Castiel loved to read, and he learned most of what he knew about being human through books, he did not command the same mastery over words his lover did, finding he usually stumbled where Daryl excelled.

When it came to wordless expression however, _he_ took the lead. When it came to feel and touch, his scant few years as a human being served him well, and he conveyed more through the subtle graze of his fingers and a well-timed gaze from under heavy lids then he could through words alone. He could tell Daryl how he felt verbally for hours, but none of it was as poignant, or as meaningful as a touch.

Once they opened that box again though it had proved impossible to close, and they had unwittingly stumbled over the fine line between friends and lovers once more, with none of their previous problems solved, and a whole slew of new ones jammed on top.

Sighing to himself, Cas stooped inside Daryl’s tent, taking in the mussed up sleeping bag that was cool to the touch from the night’s chill, which hadn’t been used since that morning. All of Daryl’s things were in their usual places, hyper-organized and ready to go at any given moment, and there was no sign that he had been back to his tent since he left earlier in the day.

He could feel his anxiety creeping along, rising like water in his chest and bubbling just under the surface, threatening to spill over should he allow it. There’s nothing to worry about, Castiel told himself, flicking on the lantern and pulling a book from Daryl’s neatly stacked pile. He’ll be back soon.

Daryl knew the woods better than anyone, and he was used to being out in the dark, having lived in them almost all his life. He had told Cas so many stories of his childhood: growing up along the creeks and mountains of Northern Georgia, catching fish and small game with his brother, losing himself in the sound of leaves and the hot summer sun when he had to escape his home, just for a while. Some were nice memories, others less than but Cas was fond of them nonetheless. They were a reminder that Daryl had lived a whole life outside of him, and that if he were lucky he would get to learn a little more about him every day. It was a testament to his character, and if there was anyone in their group who positively could not get lost in the forest, it was Daryl.

It was a calming enough thought, and though he couldn’t seem to be rid of this encroaching panic altogether, he managed to immerse himself in one of Daryl’s collections of poetry, reading at a relatively slow pace until he unwittingly fell asleep.

When he woke up early the next morning and he was still the only occupant in the tent however, with no sign of Daryl having come and gone, his heart sunk in his chest.

“He had to have been here.” Castiel murmured, sweeping his gaze over the tent to see if something was out of place, feeling like someone had punched a hole through his chest, a great and gaping maw of noxious apprehension in its wake. There was nothing missing, and nothing had been moved. The sleeping bag was cold except for where it had been wrapped around Cas’ body, and he still had both pillows stacked underneath his head. The tent was zipped and there was no sign that Daryl had spent the night with him at all.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to wake him, Cas thought to himself, taking a deep breath to stay calm. Maybe he slept in Castiel’s tent instead, when he came back to camp and found Cas passed out. Castiel was a heavy sleeper, if he was taking up the majority of the tent it wouldn’t surprise him that Daryl would opt to stay in his instead, he had done it before.

Buckling his holsters, he left the tent, taking a quick look around outside for footprints or some sign that Daryl had walked up to the door at least… but he couldn’t find anything. Daryl had been teaching him to track, but it was slow going, and he hadn’t gotten very good at it yet. He could pick out there were footprints in the dirt and ash outside the tent, but that was all, he couldn’t discern whose they were or when they were made.

Every fibre of his being was begging him to run, to sprint across the cow path and hop the fence. To get to his tent as fast as he possibly could and ease his fears. Daryl would be there, probably still sleeping, and he would admonish Castiel for waking him up so early. He couldn’t risk panicking the rest of the group though, and seeing him sprinting across the field like a madman would definitely roil them up. No, he forced himself to remain calm and walk (albeit faster than normal), across the field to his tent.

Unzipping the flap, he ducked his head inside and groaned when Daryl wasn’t there either. The sleeping bag was in the same state Cas had left it in, and the tent was a disaster, which meant Daryl hadn’t been there either. He had a compulsive habit of cleaning and tidying whatever space he spent a good amount of time in, and whenever he was in Cas’ tent, Daryl usually couldn’t relax until everything was neatly squirreled away… so where was he?

Deep breaths, he reminded himself as he zipped up his tent, standing in front of it for a solid minute as he tried to find a reasonable explanation. It shouldn’t have been that hard, but his head was buzzing, blood roaring in his ears and he couldn’t hear himself think. His hands were shaking, and Castiel balled them into fists, holding them at his sides in an effort to still them.

The fire. Maybe Cas had missed some sign of him along the way, and he _had_ come home last night. Maybe he was by the fire with the rest of the early risers, grabbing something to eat? Drinking shitty instant coffee and planning where to search that day? He had to be.

Stalking over to the campfire, waving to the small gathering of people there (Lori, Dale and Carol, all of whom woke up at an ungodly hour of the morning, no matter what), Castiel tried to school his expression so as not to tip anyone off. He needed to keep calm, he didn’t know for sure anything was wrong yet, and losing his cool wouldn’t help the situation at all. His palms were sweating profusely, and as he walked up to the fire he scrubbed them against his jeans, unable to keep his countenance from falling when he realized Daryl wasn’t there either. “H-has anyone seen Daryl?” He asked, hating how meek he sounded as he stumbled over his words.

All three of the people around the fire started when he spoke, looking up at him with identical expressions of apprehension.

“We haven’t seen him all morning.” Carol said softly, sitting back in her camping chair and setting her mug down on the ground beside her, “And now that you mention it I didn’t see him come back last night either. Is he in his tent?”

“No, I just came from there.” Castiel stepped closer, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from floundering them about, his voice cracking slightly around his barely contained panic, “I was there all night, and he didn’t come back.” Secrecy be damned, he was a hairs breadth from losing it, and these three had known about him and Daryl since the very beginning. He just needed to know where he was.

“What about your tent?” Lori broached carefully, standing and walking towards him with her palms out in a placating gesture, “Maybe he came back really late, and didn’t want to wake you?”

“I already checked, he’s not there!” Everyone jumped at his outburst, and Cas clapped a hand over his mouth, his intensity surprising even himself, “Has no one seen him, really? Has he been out in the woods all night?”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Lori was standing beside him, placing her hands on his shoulders and forcing him to look at her, “Let’s check around, okay? It’s possible he snuck by us, maybe he’s in the stables, or the house. Rick and Shane are in there talking with Hershel right now, that’s probably where he is. I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll check the stables.” Carol offered with confidence, but Castiel could see her face was ghostly pale, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. He nodded his thanks as she walked down the lawn, her pace quickening exponentially when she thought she was out of eyesight.

“I can scout the perimeter, Cas.” Dale said, pulling himself out of his chair with a groan and cracking his back, “Take a look around, maybe he’s checking the traps by the treeline.”

“Come on, let’s head inside.” Lori pulled on his shoulder, trying to direct him towards the house but he wouldn’t move, he couldn’t. His feet felt like lead blocks, stuck into the soft dirt beneath his heels. It must have rained last night, he thought mutely, his head thrumming. No matter how into his search he got, he had always come home before morning, and it wasn’t enough that Daryl was gone somewhere in the woods, he had to be out there in the rain too. He never stayed out all night, and the fact that he was missing now meant something had gone horribly wrong.

“What if he’s hurt?” Castiel barely recognized his own voice, his fear bastardizing it into something high and broken, interspersed with heavy, terrified breaths, “He took a horse, right? What if he got thrown, and he can’t make it back? Maybe he broke something, and what if he got surrounded by walkers, or lost? God, Lor what if he—”

“Don’t say it.” Lori lifted a hand, palm outward, stopping him in his tracks with a stern tone, “Don’t even think it, because it’s not true. We don’t even know if he’s missing yet, but if he is we will find him. He’s strong and he’s capable, Castiel. If something’s happened, he can handle it. And he sure as hell isn’t… that. He can’t be, he’s too damn stubborn to leave you on your own.”

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her more than anything, because he knew what she was saying held a modicum of truth. Daryl was strong, and brave and knew the woods better than anyone. He was a survivor and a fighter, and even if he was hurt he would be able to react accordingly. But there was a nagging voice in the back of his head, one that followed him as they walked up the porch, Lori’s fingers laced through his own as she tugged him along behind her. One that told him something terrible had happened, that if Daryl hadn’t made it back, it was with good reason. Lori only knew of the walkers out in the forest, but Castiel knew better… he knew there were other monsters out there as well, ones that made dodging walkers seem like child’s play.

“Rick.” Lori said sternly as they walked into the kitchen, drawing Rick, Shane and Hershel’s attention. They had been circled around the table, leaning over a map of the surrounding area, no doubt planning their next move. Hershel seemed less than pleased to have the lot of them in his house, and appeared to only be going over the map with them as a courtesy, helping them navigate nearby landmarks that wouldn’t be shown on the map. “Have you seen Daryl?” She asked, letting go of Castiel’s hand to stand beside her husband.

Rick shook his head and looked to Shane, who answered with a shrug and a perplexed stare. “No, he hasn’t been in here at all today.” He answered, his eyes narrowing minutely as his gaze shifted between his wife and Castiel, taking in the tenseness of their posture, and the worried expressions on their faces, “Is he missing?”

The front door swung open, and Carol barged in breathlessly, like she had sprinted across the lawn to get there. “The horse Daryl took,” she panted, walking into the kitchen, “it’s not in the stable, its gone.”

“Which horse?” Hershel demanded, and as Carol described it to him he dragged a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “We call that one Nelly, as in Nervous Nelly. If he’s not a seasoned rider, she’ll throw him.” He turned to Rick, hand raised and fingers pointed accusingly, “If he’d have asked me, I could have told him that. This is exactly what I was talking about Rick, we need boundaries.”

“He’s not in his tent, and no one has seen him.” Lori said, grabbing Rick’s arm with both hands and drawing his attention away from Hershel, “Dale’s looking out by the trap lines, but—”

“He’s not going to find him.” Cas spoke up suddenly, his brow furrowed, “He’s not here, he’s still out in the woods.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked out the door. If Daryl was out there, alone and possibly hurt he had to look for him. He had to find him.

“Cas!” Rick called after him, running out the door and down onto the lawn before he managed to catch up with Cas’ long, determined stride, “Cas, stop!” Rick’s hand clapped down hard on his shoulder, and Castiel spun swiftly, knocking him off. He stopped, facing Rick but drawn tense like a bow, ready to take off again at any moment. “We need to do this right,” he said, no longer touching Castiel but with his hands held up in front of him, “We can’t just run off into the woods, scattered with no idea of what we’re doin’. Now we know where Daryl was lookin’ yesterday, that’s a start. Give me fifteen minutes to organize everyone, to think up a plan of attack, and we will find him.”

“You can’t ask me to wait.” Cas said, his stubbornness rearing its ugly head as he stood firm, ready to turn and keep walking if Rick told him something he didn’t want to hear, “Don’t ask me to leave him out there any longer than I already have, I can’t.”

“I know, but all I’m askin’ for is a few minutes.” Rick spoke to him in a placating tone, stepping closer to him each second, and Castiel stumbled back, trying to keep himself out of arms reach. Gritting his teeth at the gesture, Rick dropped his hands and halted, feet sinking into the muddy lawn, “It’ll be better for all of us if we split up the search, make it more efficient. We’ll have a better chance that way.”

“I _need_ to find him.” His voice was barely a whisper, and Cas hated it. He sounded weak and desperate when he needed to be strong and sure. He knew he would be of no use to anyone if he gave in to despair, or that dreadful panic that coiled in his gut like an unruly snake, but it was impossible to ignore. It was all he could do to keep moving, he couldn’t fathom the thought of being patient at that moment.

“I know you do.” This time, when Rick stepped closer Castiel didn’t move away. Instead, he bit his lip and looked up at his from under his brow, not reacting even as Rick brought his hand down on his shoulder once more, gently this time. “If it were Lori, or Carl I’d be the exact same as you right now man, but you need to keep a level head. I need you to keep it together, and so does Daryl.” He was right, Castiel had to admit, he was useless if he let himself be swept up by fear, and when Rick muttered a soft “c’mon now,” and pulled him gently back towards the house, Cas let himself follow.

It didn’t take long to round everyone up and formulate a plan. Maggie and Jimmy both volunteered to help search as well, and with them included they had at least nine people willing and able to head out into the woods. Daryl had left nothing up in the air when he left last morning, stating explicitly which grid he would be searching in, and how much ground he wished to cover that day. It was a few miles off, but one of the closer areas, up where he found the remnants of a squat in that old farmhouse. He was certain Sophia had been staying there, and wanted to search the area himself.

Carol, surprisingly, seemed to take the reigns, helping Rick plot out who should search where and how far outside of the grid they should look. Her face was drawn and pensive, but she spoke steadily, the picture of calm determination as she pointed out spots on the map. She refused to look at Castiel as they planned, and when he caught her eye (once, by accident) she immediately turned away, her eyes wide as if she were thrown off guard. He had to wonder if she felt guilty, and he chastised himself for thinking that she should, the ugly part of him speaking up, telling him that Daryl wouldn’t be out there right now if he wasn’t looking for her long-lost daughter.

But he couldn’t blame her for that. Daryl was out there of his own volition, because he had to search for Sophia to fill a part of himself. Carol didn’t ask him to, and she had even gone as far as asking Daryl to stop.

Castiel hated that part of himself. The part that could make him lash out, and act inappropriately just because he was worried or frightened. It was a part of humanity that he could do without, a thought he had expressed to Daryl on numerous occasions, only to be met with Daryl’s expected response, “You can’t pick and choose, you got to take the good with the bad.” Castiel had rolled his eyes every time, but he agreed with him all the same. It was just hard to be rational when he didn’t even know if Daryl was alive.

As he roamed through the woods later that afternoon, having taken the furthermost part of the section Daryl was supposedly searching, he tried to remind himself of all that Daryl had taught him. They had spent hours together in this same forest, tracking Sophia and Daryl had shown him how to look for footprints, how to recognize sections of the forest floor that didn’t look like the rest, and if they were recently disturbed. He taught him the difference between different kinds of animal tracks, how to tell the difference between a squirrel and a rabbit, or a deer and a horse. He taught him how to scan the trees, to see if someone had taken shelter in its shadow, if any moss was misplaced by a wayward hand or if berries had been picked from a nearby bush, but he was still so new at it and it wasn’t like he had taken the lessons seriously. He never thought he would seriously need that set of skills, taking for granted that Daryl might not be around forever.

The tracks blurred together, and he couldn’t pinpoint a direction. There were walkers about, and he couldn’t discern which boot prints were theirs and which might belong to the living. The forest floor looked the identical in every direction, and he couldn’t tell which sections might have been walked through or tampered with. Everything looked the same.

“Daryl!” Castiel called out, not caring that he could hear a Croat bumbling along behind him, his hands cupped to his mouth to amplify his cry, “Daryl, where are you!?” His footsteps soon became a weak and stumbling gait, the long walk with no respite tiring his legs and grief fogging his mind. The longer he went without a sign, without being able to track Daryl or hearing a reply, the more his throat tightened. His chest welled with an emotion he couldn’t describe and his breathing hitched as he pulled his angel blade from its holster and stabbed the fast approaching Croat between the eyes, halting it with its greedy fingers inches from his shoulder.

Calm down, he told himself, letting the Croat fall from his blade and onto the ground, hearing it crunch against the leaves underfoot. There was no point in getting worked up just yet. There was still a large swath of ground left to cover, and no sign was also kind of a good sign. It meant that maybe Daryl was still on his feet, still covering his tracks as he always did when he roamed through the trees. Wiping the gore off his blade, he slipped it back into his hip holster, his fingers skirting along the hilt as he forced himself to take in a deep breath and remember what Daryl had said the previous morning.

“He was going to take a horse,” Castiel muttered, walking along a thinly veiled path to a break in the trees, “So he could go up a ridge and take a bird's-eye view of the whole… grid.”

As he broke through the trees, he found himself at the edge of a tall cliff, the smooth rock surface sitting at a sharp angle, leading down to a creek. From where he was he could see three things of pertinence: One, there was blood along the water’s edge near the cliff where he was standing, as well as down the side of the cliff itself. It looked old, but not too old, maybe a day at the most. Two, there were remnants of a bloody plaid shirt strewn over the bank of the creek, sitting next to a doll he recognized immediately as Sophia’s. And three, there were two walker corpses on the bank of the creek, one with its head smashed in by a tree branch, and the other with a familiar crossbow bolt embedded through its forehead.

Daryl had been down there, he thought with a thrill of hope.

Now, where did he go?

Castiel took the hill slowly, letting himself slide down the face of the cliff in a deep squat, his backside almost hitting the ground and his hand dragging along behind him. He winced as he felt the jagged surface pull and grind at the skin of his palm, but he put it out of his mind, stopping to examine the blood on his way down.

It was Daryl’s, he realized as he looked closer. He could see where the fabric of his shirt had smeared it against the rock as he rolled down the hill, probably tossed from his horse at the very top. It was old, but still wet, not yet cooked to the rocks by the sun, and it wasn’t rotted like walker blood. By the time Castiel made it to the bottom of the cliff, he reached the apex of concern, that small swell of optimism he had felt when he realized he’d found some sign of Daryl faltered and died on the spot. He had lost a lot of blood, and if Daryl were still mobile, he would be struggling. Cas could only hold on to hope that his wounds weren’t lethal, and that he hadn’t injured anything too vital.

Skirting the bank of the creek, he picked up Sophia’s doll, dry from the sun but still covered in dirt and grime, and looping it in his belt he crouched down. “He bound his wound here,” Castiel said to himself, running his fingers through the plaid fabric (just a sleeve, he realized), “and then he was attacked, fought them off and went up…”

That way, up the hill. He had killed the two walkers, taking one down on his feet with the tree branch, the other on his back with his bow. From the obvious tracks in the rocky shore, Castiel could follow his path up to the dirt hill, and could clearly see how he fell at least once, before making his way to the top. The dirt was mussed, and large Daryl sized indents in the hill showed where he had pressed himself up against it, to breathe and steady himself. His injuries must not be mortal, he realized, if he managed to climb the hill on his own.

“You taught me better than I realized,” Castiel said as he started up the hill, taking the same direct path as Daryl had, pulling himself up from tree to tree, “and I promise when I find you, I’ll start taking your lessons seriously.” With a grunt of exertion, he hauled himself up one surprisingly large gap between two small elm trees, panting heavily as he stopped to rest for a moment, “I won’t make jokes and I won’t complain, I promise. Just please be alive.”

Making it to the top of the hill, Castiel sighed in relief, pausing to catch his breath. He was sweating clean through his tee shirt, the fabric clinging to his back and chest and he reached around to fan the hem, grimacing as the fabric tugged wetly away from his skin. He could see Daryl’s path through the trees ahead of him, his footprints dug deep into the wet underbrush, having trampled down the foliage with his heavy steps. He followed them with his eyes past a break in the tree line, into a clearing and once he could breathe normally again he made his way into the open space, careful not to muddy up the trail as he walked, and grievously unprepared for what would greet him there.

Amongst the grass, leaves and rocks, the floor of the clearing was splattered in blood, the same blood that was smeared along the cliff face, and the same that he found along the creek bed. He didn’t have to move any closer to see where Daryl had fallen heavily onto the forest floor, without struggle. There were footprints around the outline of his prone form, feet smaller than his and Castiel couldn’t tell if they were a Croats or not… all he could figure out from the scene in front of him was that something had got the jump on Daryl, and knocked him unconscious.

Walking carefully, Castiel choked back a bubbling cry when he realized there was no trail. He scoured the floor, kicking up leaves in his haste and trying to find a direction they might have gone off too, a lead of some kind, but he found nothing. It was as if Daryl had just disappeared, and whatever came along for him had too.

“This isn’t possible.” He said to himself, running a shaking hand through his hair as he pulled it back from his face, “He couldn’t have just disappeared, he had to have gone somewhere.” Castiel was on the brink of hysterics and he knew it, his vision swimming as he dropped to his knees, sweeping leaves and twigs out of the way to get a better look at the dirt underneath. The sun was setting, his hike up the hill having taken longer than he anticipated, and he could barely make out anything in the soft ground beneath his palms, but he knew there had to be a sign. He had to have missed something, but he wasn’t adept enough to find it and sitting back on his heels he shouted Daryl’s name at the top of his lungs, out of options as well as fortitude.  
Hearing footsteps from the side of the clearing, Castiel looked up in time to see Dale hurrying from the treeline, a finger held to his lips as he shushed him, his hunting rifle clenched in his other fist. “Quiet down, do you want to draw every walker here?” Dale reprimanded him, crouching down beside Castiel and looking him sternly in the eye, “Sitting out here shouting like a fool isn’t going to help anyone, son.”

Castiel was exhausted, his limbs heavy and weak and with a shake of his head he pointed to the blood splattered by his knees. Dale’s face fell, his lips pulled tight as he realized what he was seeing, recognizing the shape of a body indented into the grass and leaves. “This doesn’t mean anything Cas.” Dale said softly, leaning forward and drawing his fingers through the grass, “We don’t even know if this was him.”

“It was.” Castiel ran a hand over his face, caked in dirt and grime, inhaling the earthy scent and the hint of coppery blood that still clung to his fingers from Daryl’s shirt sleeve, “I found two walkers down that hill, one with Daryl’s bolt through its forehead. I also found this.” He pulled Sophia’s doll from his belt loop and handed it to Dale, “I followed his path up here, but the trail ends. There’s nothing, no footprints leading out of the clearing, only leading in.”

“Well, at least that means he’s not a walker.” Dale said with a nod, tilting his head as he tried to pick out a path that Castiel had missed, and sighing when he realized he couldn’t, “Otherwise he would have left tracks behind, right? Maybe he got up and decided to start hiding his footprints? Make it hard for whatever attacked him to find him again?”

“But what attacked him?” It didn’t make sense, Castiel groused inwardly, digging his fingers into his thighs, “Why would they just leave him here, and where did they go?”

“Look, you found a very good lead here.” Dale said softly, groaning as he rose to his feet, using his knees as leverage to stand up straight, “We’re losing daylight, and we have to head back but we have a direction now. A jumping off point we can come back to tomorrow morning.”

“In the morning? I’m not waiting until morning, and I’m not going anywhere.” Cas was on his feet in an instant, shaking his head and backing away obstinately, “He’s already been out here a day! He’s already hurt and bleeding, who knows if he even has until morning!”

“You can’t wander out here in the dark. You’ll get lost too, or worse!” Dale wouldn’t back down, stalking forward as he threw his palms out to the side, gesturing wildly to the forest around them, “There’s no point to it, who’s going to find him if you get yourself lost? You aren’t a tracker like he is, but you are the next best thing we’ve got and you are our only hope of finding him right now. If you stay out here all night, you aren’t going to find him. You’ll just end up exhausting yourself, you’ll slip up and eventually get hurt too and then Daryl’s as good as done for.”

“How can I just leave him out here, all alone?” That trembling, weak voice was back and Cas would have resented it the moment it passed his lips if he weren’t so wholly exhausted. He was hot to the touch, sweat cooling against his skin as the wind picked up, rustling the leaves above their heads. He had been out there searching for so long, he almost missed it as the sun began to set, dipping low beneath the trees and all he could think of was Daryl, the fear that clouded his mind the same as when Sophia was first missing.

Was he safe?

Did he have shelter? Food? Water?

Was he held up somewhere, hurt and waiting for rescue?

Was he captured?

Was he a walker?

With a distraught huff, Cas buried his face in his hands and muttered against his palms, “I can’t go back without him.

“You have to.” Dale said sternly, but when he grabbed Cas’ wrists and tugged his hands down from his face there was no ferocity to him, only pity and understanding. “Now come on.” He pleaded, walking away from Castiel towards the treeline, only pausing to wait for him to catch up, “We’ll find him, Castiel.”

He had to hope that Dale was right.

* * *

No one else had found any sign of Daryl, and they had taken Castiel’s findings in different levels of severity.

Most of the group took it as a good sign, one which pointed to Daryl being okay and hiding away somewhere, awaiting rescue. Lori commented loudly and often on how Daryl probably hid his tracks, offering it as a suggestion as to why Castiel couldn’t find any leads out of the clearing. Carol had gratefully accepted Sophia’s doll as a sign they were on the right track, and for her part seemed to swell with a sense of hope that maybe Daryl had found her daughter after all. That maybe they were both alive together. Dale puttered about most of the night, talking to Castiel about books and discussing the merits of different philosophers, no doubt trying to distract him for a little while, and while he was thankful for it, it didn’t soften the blow that was Daryl’s extended absence.

If there was one good thing to come from it he noted, it was the way everyone seemed to band around them. Whatever worries and mental roadblocks Daryl had that kept their relationship under wraps, it was clear there was no real need for concern where these people were involved. Not one of them hesitated to console him, or to offer their words of encouragement. Glenn sat with him by the fire for almost an hour, talking about strange little things Daryl would do daily, his mannerisms and speech patterns that were so distinctly him. They traded stories about his prowess as a hunter, providing for the camp back at the quarry, and how well he seemed to know his way in the wild. Carol and Lori were at his side most of the night too, not talking about Daryl at all, just about mundane little things to keep him occupied. Even Shane, with all his bluster about heading on to Fort Benning and not sticking around the farm any longer than necessary, stopped by Castiel’s side that night, clasping a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

But it wasn’t enough to distract him from Daryl’s missing presence. All the kindness this group exuded, and it still didn’t help him to forget that Daryl wasn’t sitting there with him, that he wouldn’t be with him that night. Daryl was gone and alone, and Castiel was sitting by the fire eating bland chicken and raw tomatoes, listening to droning conversations that only served to irritate him more with their mundanity. Daryl could be dying, or sick, or lost and they were just being _patient_.

Which is only another way of saying they were doing nothing.

Andrea and Maggie were the last to return that night, and as they approached the rest of the group, and even through the dark Castiel knew they hadn’t found anything. No sign of Daryl, same as the rest. Cas was the only one to find any leads whatsoever, and his culminated in a dead end.

“I’m sorry Cas,” Andrea said as she took a seat next to him, resting her hand on his thigh and he found himself wondering on this human compulsion to _touch_ when someone was hurting. It seemed foreign to him, and though he had been told before he was very tactile for a human (‘handsy’ Dean had called him on occasion), he thought it odd that people like Shane and Andrea, who were very seldom open and touchy people would be so inclined to comfort him in the form of a carefully placed hand on his shoulder, or his leg. It must be an instinct he was never aware of before, he mused, hardly hearing Andrea as she just repeated what everyone else had told him as they came back from searching. It seemed a social construct that had been around for so long it became ingrained in human biology.

It was a comfort he supposed, to know that these people were trying their hardest to help him through his grief even though they were experiencing the loss themselves. Over the past few months, and especially during the search for Sophia, Daryl had more than proven his worth to them. When Castiel first arrived, Daryl was more reviled and more of an outcast than he was, even though he was a stranger, and Cas could see why immediately. He was brash, rude and didn’t take anyone at their word. He hadn’t met Merle, but Cas could see how his actions and personality had shaped the groups perception of Daryl, and the hunter played right into it, not thinking it (or he) was worth the effort to prove them otherwise. In Daryl’s own words, they thought he was a “redneck asshole, with an even bigger asshole for a brother.”

But he wasn’t, and Castiel knew how unfair it was for anyone, but especially Daryl himself to write him off as a lost cause or a bad person. Because from the very night he dragged Castiel out of the woods and into that camp, he had been unapologetically kind. Cas could see in an instant that he was smart, and stronger than anyone gave him credit for. A great man with an incredible capacity for kindness, and one that reminded him so much of two other great men he had the pleasure of knowing in his long life. He could do so much more for this group, Castiel could remember thinking, watching their first morning together as Daryl snapped and snarled at Rick like a rabid dog over some meaningless comment, if only he wasn’t so afraid of failing. If he would only try.

Castiel had made it a mission then, to help him carve out a place in that group. To give Daryl something to work towards, and to show him he was every bit as good as Rick, or Shane. He had urged Daryl to start hunting for the group, and not just the two of them. To go out on small runs together and bring back things that they not only needed, but would also lift the spirits of those in the camp. He started convincing him to eat his meals within eyesight of the rest of them… he didn’t have to speak; he didn’t even have to sit with them. He just had to make his presence known. To let them all know he was one of them, and remind them he was a person, not a villain.

Putting his centuries of his experience navigating the hierarchies of Heaven to good use, Castiel subtly showed Daryl how to supplement himself, to make him a valuable figure without imposing himself upon them, becoming indispensable without them even knowing. And by the time they found their way to Hershel’s farm, without realizing it Daryl had exceeded every expectation Cas had for him. He was a natural leader it seemed, underneath the hesitancy and the defensive anger, and he took control of Sophia’s search when no one else knew how. People came to him now, to ask him for assistance and advice, and spoke to him without needing to, because they wanted to. Castiel knew it still grated on him, and that Daryl, not used to the attention, had to fight to reign in his initial reaction to the added attention (snap, snarl, hide), and often he was not successful. But Heaven knows, he tries his hardest.

He missed Daryl terribly in that moment, suddenly aware of every cloying set of eyes that bore into him, watching him with a mixture of pity and apprehension, no doubt wondering when he was going to try to run off into the woods again, determined to find Daryl at any cost. After his initial outburst that morning, running off on Rick and fighting with Dale in the woods, he couldn’t blame them. And in his heart, he knew if it would help, if there was any chance that wandering through the woods alone at night could lead to him finding Daryl, he would do so. But they were right, and it would only make matters worse.

The waiting was killing him though, and for the first time since he fell he wished he could speed things up, hurry time along until the moon dipped and the sun peeked over the horizon, because he couldn’t stand not knowing. He couldn’t bear the anticipation, the hesitation to hope for his lover back with him when he didn’t even know he was alive. Or if they would ever find him.

Would he ever sit with him again? Daryl’s calming presence a steady weight beside him, anchoring him to the earth when at times he felt like he was a hairs breadth from floating away, his senses overloaded by the constant push and pull of his humanity? When Castiel would flounder in the stream of constant perception, letting go of the rudder as his mind raced to cram everything he sensed into his too small skull, would Daryl ever again reach over (when he was certain no one was looking) and run his fingers soothingly up and down his spine, and whisper to him that he was alright?

Would he ever be able to touch him, to feel his lungs rise and fall beneath his cheek as they lay together at night, or the heavy, comforting weight of his arms looped around his shoulders? The steady rush of blood barely contained underneath his skin… Or the heat from his body as he slept, and the gentle slope of his lips as they moved against Castiel’s own, or smiled, or pursed tight around a cigarette?

Would he ever hear his voice? That gritty southern drawl that set Castiel’s heart on fire? Or his laughter, only sneaking out as a quiet, breathy thing during the day and a beautiful, full bodied sound that rang like music in his ears at night when they were alone? Would he ever see his eyes again, icy blue and sharp like an animal, a wolf’s eyes, and would he ever get to witness the way they softened as Daryl looked at him?

His smile. His work worn hands. His lazy, long legged gait and his sharp wit.

Castiel might never see him again.

“Oh, Cas…”

Andrea’s compassionate voice broke through to him finally, and he found he was sitting stock still, a long burnt out smoke clutched between two fingers and her hand still on his knee. She was looking up at him with a curious expression, and her fingers tightened ever so slightly over his denim covered leg as her brows pulled together in concern. Lifting a hand to his face, he flinched back just as she was about to graze the tips of her fingers against his cheek, pulling back sharply and lifting his own hand to his face. He gasped when his fingertips ran through tracks of tears, warm and heavy down his cheeks, tears he hadn’t even realize he shed.

He sobbed unbidden, covering his mouth with his hand as he looked down at her in shock, mortified. The entire group around the fire fell silent, the crackling logs and raucous crickets not covering the echoing sound of his cry. Everyone was watching him, all of them still, and he could feel the pity, the understanding rolling off each of them in waves. It cascaded over him, sweeping into his bones and he wished he could just shake it off. Pretend he was stronger than he was and be fine, but he couldn’t stop the steady flow of tears down his cheeks, falling from his chin and hitting his jeans with a dull, wet sound.

Hand still clasped over his mouth he stood suddenly, ignoring Lori’s gentle call as he shook Andrea’s hand from his knee. He needed to leave, to get away from their staring, agonizingly invasive and unnecessary, as he felt his mortal weakness flaring within his chest. He felt in that moment that they knew how useless he was, how little he could do to help himself, much less anyone else. He couldn’t find a little lost girl in the woods, he couldn’t find his own lover! He couldn’t cook, hunt or heal them when they were injured. He was hapless, hopeless, useless and they knew it. The evidence was clear as day, blurring his vision and spilling down his cheeks with each rapid blink.

Stammering out an excuse he walked briskly out of the fires glow, stalking through the dark night down the cow path, lead only by the dim light of the moon and her churning stars. His hand never left his lips, his fingers digging into his cheeks as he broke into a jog, darting across the field and out of sight of the rest of the group, and into Daryl’s tent. It stayed there, shaking until the tent flap was zipped up tight behind him, and he was sitting cross-legged in the center, surrounded by all of Daryl’s worldly possessions. It stayed there until he was alone, and when he finally pried his fingers away the ungodly sound that tore out from his mouth was one he had never made before in his life. He didn’t even know he was capable of it, this deep and wrenching moan that sounded like it was being pulled out of him, tugged on an invisible thread from the very depths of his gut, rasping its way out of his throat even as it tried in vain to close around it. His chest shuddered, violently quaking with the force of air his lungs expelled, and he gasped sharply, bringing both of his hands to his lips as he felt another sob gurgling from the empty space the first one left in its wake.

Toppling forward, his forehead hitting the thin mattress he was sitting on, he coiled his arms around his stomach, his sides pinching from the force of his cries, no longer audible but wheezing, gasping noises that lilted, high pitched and breathy at the end. There were no tears as he cried into the sleeping bag, the sound of the sheets rasping against him deafening in the tent. He had never cried like this, a full body seizure that twisted and pulled at his muscles, which overcame him so completely he felt like he would never breath right again. And as he tapered to a halt, flopping down onto his side and holding Daryl’s pillow against his cheek he hoped he would never have to again.

It was horrid. He felt stiff like he had run a marathon, his lungs and chest burning with exertion. His eyes were raw and sore, and as he scrubbed a hand against them he felt the heat from them like a furnace, tacky trails of tears drying quickly against his cheeks. He was leaking snot like a faucet, and if he weren’t so exhausted he would be disgusted, wiping his nose on his sweater sleeve without a care. His throat was constricting still, and each breath he took was a battle, but at least now he felt… relieved. Better actually. His head cleared as he sniffled against Daryl’s pillow, unconsciously rubbing his cheek against it.

The crippling guilt he thought he would drown in, his grief and anguish were still there, but farther away now, like they were separated by a thin sheet of glass. He could see them and hear them still, but he couldn’t feel them. He could think finally, for the first time all day.

I guess crying is cathartic, he thought to himself, sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes blearily. It made sense, there had to be a reason why humans did it so often, even when they didn’t need to. He didn’t even flinch when he heard footsteps approaching, too light to be anyone other than Lori or Carol, folding up the pillow he had been crying into and laying it in his lap before telling them to come in.

It was Lori, and she stooped into the tent without a word. Castiel didn’t bother wiping his cheeks or hiding his red face as his clicked the lantern on, letting her see him for what he was. He didn’t mind it with her, Lori was the closest friend he had next to Daryl, and she had suffered so much in the past few weeks with Carl that he knew she would understand.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Lori started, breaking the silence as she sat with her legs crossed by the door, “Cas, this is a terrible thing that’s happened and I wish we could search all through the night for him. Its situations like these that make me miss what the world used to be… we used to be able to call search and rescue. Now we have to stumble around, and do it ourselves, even if we don’t know how.”

“Its just—” Castiel cut himself off with a huff, looking out the mesh window towards the slowly dwindling fire, the outside world a steady grumble of insects and distant voices, “I feel absolutely incompetent. Like I know what must be done, but I’m incapable of doing it. He was the tracker, and he tried to teach me but I wasn’t good at it, and I never took it seriously. I always just assumed he’d be here. I never once thought he might be the one to go missing.”

“I feel so useless. Daryl’s out there, alone and hurt and what do I do about it?” The walls of the tent rattled with a gust of wind as he drew his hand across his cheeks, scrubbing angrily at his tear stained skin, “I hide in his tent and cry like a fucking child. I should be better than this! I _need_ to be stronger than this.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have some seriously messed up expectations for yourself?” Lori said after a brief pause, shaking her head as she shuffled across the tent to his side, “Honey, when Carl was shot I cried for three days straight. I didn’t leave his side; I didn’t eat and I barely slept. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown the whole time and I even considered…” She breathed in deep, closing her eyes tightly as she pursed her lips and seemed to deliberate what she was going to say next. She hesitated, and for a while Castiel thought she had changed her mind when she let out a long sigh. Her chin in her hand, she leaned forward, elbow resting against her knee as she looked him in the eye, “I considered letting him die. I thought that it would be kinder to let him slip away then let him keep suffering, and it was disgusting, but it was how I grieved.”

“You’re only human and sometimes, people cry when they’re upset.” Castiel rolled his eyes at her attempts at teasing, and she reached over with her free hand to swat his knee, inadvertently bringing a smile to his face, “And sometimes when we’re scared we say and do stupid things, and that’s okay. Its normal Cas, and you are normal.”

“You’re taking this as well as anyone could expect you to.” Gesturing towards the rest of the group as they milled about beyond the field, Lori rested her hand on his knee, running her thumb reassuringly across the course denim, “And we are going to keep looking. For both Daryl and Sophia, we are not going to give up and we are not going to leave until they are safe and sound, back here with the people who love them.” Castiel looked up at her from under his lashes, his chin ducked down towards his chest and he tried to take her words for what they were, “I know you don’t believe me right now, but we are going to bring him back to you, I promise.”

“I used to be able to do so much more.” He spoke softly, and quickly, not giving himself time to really think about what he was saying, “You know, I used to be able to track people too, not like Daryl can, but better. I still know how,” Castiel leaned back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him and accidentally kicking the duffle bag in the corner of the tent, “If there was only some way to tell if he was alive.”

There is, his mind supplied him as he nudged Daryl’s bag with his foot, jostling the journal Cas had lent him as it sat on top. Daryl had been persistent about borrowing it after the incident at the C.D.C., wanting to learn all he could about the different types of creatures that were out there, corporeal or no. He said he wanted to be prepared in case the worst happened, and he didn’t have Castiel with him to save his ass or tell him what to do. He also wanted to know more about himself, and what it meant to have the kind of natural ability he did, that he was more inclined to believe he had after he funneled thirty some odd spirits through his physical form like he was flagger directing traffic.

Castiel was more than inclined to help him learn about the supernatural, but unfortunately there wasn’t much in John’s journal that Daryl could use to learn about being a psychic. It was frustrating, and Castiel had tried to explain to him that learning how to be and how to use an ability like that is incredibly personal, and that what works for one medium might not work for another. He assisted him when he could, but there were questions Daryl had that he just didn’t have the answers too. Cas didn’t know why he sometimes saw physical manifestations of psychic energy, like flames leaping into the air and the weather changing, and Castiel couldn’t understand why Daryl thought he was the cause of all of it.

Daryl was convinced that these strange things he had seen over the past few months were triggered by Castiel, by a remnant of his grace that he was by some means unaware of. And no matter how many times Cas tried to explain to him that it was actually Daryl who was the cause of them, he just wouldn’t accept it. He didn’t want to hear that he was powerful, that he had a well of untapped psychic energy inside of him that was more frightening and potent than any other Castiel had seen in the entirety of his existence, and he didn’t want to accept that it made things, strange and whimsical things, happen around him.

He scoffed when Cas told him the fireflies in the clearing had been drawn to him, not Castiel.

Or when he explained that Daryl had been the one to blow out their Coleman lantern, and Daryl had just rolled his eyes.

And then there was that time Cas told him that the nearly hurricane level winds that swept up when he taught Castiel how to swim were a manifestation of Daryl feeling what Cas was feeling. Daryl had just laughed in his face and told him to shut up.

Daryl didn’t want to think he was special, which made sense to Cas. He spent his whole life being taught to be invisible and unassuming, to fear attention like the plague because it only brought trouble. Why then would he want to believe he was a grievously powerful psychic?

That didn’t change the fact that he shone like a beacon in the Veil.

“Oh Lori,” Castiel laughed incredulously, running his hand through his hair as he grabbed the journal, hastily skimming over the entries, “I’ve been so stupid! Trying to track him on my hands and knees through the mud, without knowing what I was doing when the whole time all I had to do was _look!_ ”

Lori was regarding him carefully, her eyes wide as he tore through the pages of the old leather book, flattening it out on the ground in front of him when he found what he was looking for. Her mouth moved but there were no words, and she seemed stunned into silence by his drastic mood swing, letting him go about his business as she waited patiently for him to explain.

“He’s stronger than he thinks, and he has no idea how to control it.” There, he thought to himself, running his fingers down a list of ingredients he would need for the spell, “I saw him in the Veil, at the C.D.C. and he was so bright. He was extraordinary and he didn’t even realize it. You would have to be blind not to see him!”

“What are you saying?” Lori asked emphatically, both of her hands grasping at his arm as she worriedly studied his face, “I have no idea what you’re talking about Castiel, I need you to slow down. How else are you supposed to be looking, and what do you mean by ‘bright’?”

“I could still track him.” Castiel told her, not looking up from the book. He said too much, he knew that the instant he pulled out the journal but there wasn’t time to distract her, and honestly he could use someone’s help. He trusted Lori the most out of everyone in their group, she had been his friend since the beginning and they knew more of each other’s secrets than anyone else. If there was a single person who he knew he could count on to help him find Daryl, it was her. He just had to convince her not to freak out first, and he figured the best way to do that was to rip off the band aid in one fell swoop, steeling himself with a deep breath before telling her with a finger pointed to the page that, “Daryl’s a psychic empath. He’s like a lighthouse, emitting a constant flare of energy and I could find him in an instant with this spell.”

“Spell? I—” Letting go of his arm she ran both hands down her face, before pulling them up through her hair. Lori puffed out her cheeks and cut herself off, her head shaking slightly as she tried to process something that she didn’t have enough information to understand, “You are not making a lick of sense and you are really starting to scare me, now what the _hell_ are you talking about?”

“Listen, there is a lot in this world that you don’t understand. Stuff you haven’t seen because there have been people around you, working in secret to spare you and keep you safe. But just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not real, and now that the world has fallen to pieces a lot of those people are dead or struggling to stay alive themselves.” He knew instinctively that this was going to be harder than convincing Daryl, who had been ready and willing to believe in the existence of the supernatural the second he said ‘Chupacabra,’ and he prepared himself for a debate. He just hoped she wouldn’t try to leave the tent, and would give him time to clarify as he hurried through the initial explanation, “I was one of those people, kind of, so were Sam and Dean. They were called hunters, and they saved people from things that they’d rather leave unnoticed.”

“There used to be hundreds of hunters, a whole network across America of people who had the veil lifted from their eyes one way or another. They’ve been all but wiped out now, and the things they used to hunt are running rampant.” She didn’t believe him, Castiel could see it in her eyes as he spoke, “Daryl and I have dealt with two threats already, one almost killed me and the other actually did kill him, for about four minutes.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” Lori said after a beat, her fingers still clenched in her hair and the only move she made was the shallow rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened, “You’re absolutely crazy.”

“As crazy as dead people standing up and walking around? Eating the living?” Castiel threw Daryl’s own words at her, remembering his rationalization when Castiel first told him about the paranormal, “This is beside the point. What I’m trying to say is I have experience with things beyond your normal perception, and I’m telling you Daryl is a powerful psychic who has lived unchecked for thirty some odd years. I think I can cast a spell to help me see into the ethereal plane and find him. If he’s alive I should be able to pinpoint his exact location.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Cas there is no way you expect me to believe this!” Shaking her head, Lori dropped her hands, shuffling backwards away from him as she spoke, her voice wavering and seeming like she might bolt, “Hunters, and psychics and _monsters_? What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You can help me.” Sliding the book over towards her, Castiel gestured to a list of herbs as he looked up at her imploringly, “I need ingredients for the spell, mostly herbs but we would have to take them from Hershel’s house without anyone noticing. I don’t have time to have this conversation again tonight, neither does Daryl.”

“You want me to help you.” She deadpanned, huffing in disbelief, “Do a _spell_.”

“Look, I know this is overwhelming. I’m not giving you enough to go on, and my explanations are meagre at best but you have to trust me, I’m begging you.” Reaching over the journal, Castiel clasped both of her hands in his, “I need your help, and this could be Daryl’s only shot at getting home alive.”

“Let’s say that all of this is true, that you haven’t completely cracked and there is such a thing as monsters and people who hunt them.” Lori said, her voice stern but she didn’t try to take her hands back. Instead, she turned them over in Castiel’s grasp and laced her fingers through his own, “How could you keep this from us? I mean, are we in danger?”

“You’re not in any more danger than you are already with the walkers. And how would you suggest I tell people?” Castiel said, realizing that this was a start at least. She seemed to be relaxing and she was no longer staring at him like he had sprouted an extra head. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, clinging tightly as he tried to make her understand… if he could ensure her help, he could have the spell finished in less than an hour, and if everything went well he could set out that night, “You know me better than anyone else in this camp, and I’m having a hard time convincing _you_ that I’m not crazy. Do you think Shane, or Rick would have taken this any better? They wouldn’t just wait for me to explain; they would send me on my way or _worse._ ”

“Rick would never.”

“But Shane might.” And Cas saw it in Lori’s eyes the second the words had left his mouth: he had her. He might not have been able to sway her into believing in the supernatural, but he at least convinced her not to tell the rest of the group, “And who knows how anyone else would react. People do stupid things when they’re scared, right?”

There was a pregnant pause that stretched between them, his words falling into silence as the only sounds reverberating through the tent were the wind whipping the tarp overhead, and crickets from the treeline. Lori bit her lip fiercely, worrying it between her teeth as she looked away, her fingers still wrapped around Castiel’s as she deliberated, eyes to the floor. She appeared to be scanning over the tent, to the stack of bags in the corner, the two sleeping bags and the pillows, and the combination of Cas and Daryl’s things, intermingled in a way that betrayed their closeness. Her eyes softened when they fell of the plastic cat clock in the corner, propped up against a stack of books. There was a sweet sort of domesticity which emanated through the tent, something that was made to be temporary but ended up becoming a makeshift home. 

“Okay.”

She had relented so softly Castiel barely caught it, trying to reign in a smile and failing.

“But you need to promise me that if I do this and we get Daryl back, you will tell me everything. Every bit.” Lori took her hands back, pointing a finger at his chest for emphasis and giving him a look that curtailed his obvious relief, “And once we get Daryl back, you have to tell Rick, alright? If our people could be in danger by not knowing, then he needs to be informed.” She picked the journal up, reading over the list quickly before snapping it shut and unzipping the tent. They both hurried outside, and the instant Cas was on his feet Lori turned to him, stopping him in his tracks with a commanding palm to the center of his chest, “And when you go to get Daryl, I’m coming too.”

“No.” Castiel said firmly, “No way, there’s too much about Daryl’s disappearance. We’re going in blind, it’s too dangerous.”

“If it’s too dangerous for me, then it’s too dangerous for you.” Lori told him, unknowingly parroting Daryl’s words from back at the C.D.C. in a way that made his heart clench uncomfortably, “I’m either coming with, or we aren’t doing this at all.”

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her stance wide and her jaw set firm, a perfect picture of defiance. Lori wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and no matter how many reasons he had for her not to come along (what if there is something awful out there, if I can’t protect you, if you get hurt, you have a family, a son, a husband), he knew they would be falling on deaf ears. She was resolute, and he had no choice but to surrender.

“Deal.” Castiel agreed, shaking her hand resolutely when she offered it and quietly shouldering the added responsibility of keeping her safe to move the whole process along

It took about three hours to gather everything they needed.

Luckily it was all household items, save for the holy water and oil, so they managed to get them all with relative ease. Lori provided a distraction, keeping Hershel busy by asking questions about Carl’s recovery while Castiel raided their pantry, rounding up all the necessary herbs. He had to pray that cinnamon bark might serve as a substitute for myrrh as he ducked around the kitchen door, giving Lori the signal over Hershel’s shoulder and walking out the side door.

“God, I hate that.” Lori groused as they set up in the stable, five candles lit around the perimeter of an old wood table and Castiel drawing a circle of sigils on it in chalk, “I’m not good at lying like that, having to come up with excuses right to someone’s face. This’d better work Cas, I’m pretty sure that ordeal just took like five years off my lifespan.”

“You did fine,” He muttered, finishing off the circle and examining it careful in the flickering candlelight, before setting a large bowl down in the center. They had macerated the herbs and spices, leaving nothing more than a sopping wet mush in the bowl, floating on top of the holy water like a slurry, “And this will work, it has to.” He breathed deep, the smell of burning wax and herbs not doing much to overpower the stench of the barn, “We’re out of options otherwise.”

“Are you ready?” Lori asked, standing back against the far wall like Castiel had instructed and craning her neck to watch over his shoulder.

He nodded as he picked up the glass vial of holy oil, pouring it over top of the mixture as he recited the Enochian incantation, his mother language feeling out of place and heavy on his tongue.

_“Zod ah ma ra la ee est la gi ro sa.”_

Lori gasped loudly as the bowl burst into a shower of sparks and bright red fire, sizzling loudly and startling the animals. The horses reared in their stalls while the cattle kicked and howled, but Castiel was deaf to any of it. Time stopped for him, the flames freezing at the height of their burn and parting before his eyes. The edges sizzled and cracked, sparks still flying but the bulk of the flame didn’t move, and through the very center he could see the woods the farm was nestled against, a top down aerial view eastward from the highway.

Burrowed in the stretch of woods, Cas saw him. A bright white light, blinding in its intensity and about half a mile north of where Castiel had found Sophia’s doll, which could be none other than Daryl… but he wasn’t alone. There was someone else with him, pale blue glow that pulsated occasionally and as he watched, Castiel could see thin tendrils seeping into Daryl’s bright light, paling it and dampening its brilliance.

He knew that glow, and he knew what it was doing. He had seen it before as an angel, a demonic spirit in the flesh infecting its unsuspecting victim. Trapping them in a world of their own devising so it could feast on them slowly.

And as soon as the flames sprung to life they were gone, the candles blown out and the stable plunged into darkness. Time returned to normal and Castiel could hear the animals braying loudly, felt Lori’s hands on his arm as she dragged him from the barn, saying something about people approaching.

“Well?” She asked as they ran around the side of the house, out of sight of Rick and Hershel who were running towards the barn with their weapons brandished, no doubt thinking a walker had gotten at the animals, “Did you find him?”

“Yes, but he’s not alone.” Lori looked at him perplexedly as he spoke, her hands on her knees as she leaned against the wall and listened intently for any sign someone was coming towards them, “Something’s there with him, and its infecting him with part of itself. I think it might be a Djinn.”

“What’s a Djinn?”

“Like a genie, but not the mythical kind.” Pulling the journal out of his jacket pocket, Cas flipped to the right page and handed it to her as he explained, “They feed on human blood, and they use a powerful, controllable neurotoxin to sedate their victims while they feed. It puts them in a coma like state, and they can be kept alive that way for months if the Djinn is careful.”

“Holy shit.” Lori breathed, dragging a finger across a rudimentary sketch of a Djinn’s tattoos drawn in blue ball-point pen, “O-okay, so that means Daryl is alive, right? Can you reason with a Djinn, or are they like animals?” She stuttered over her words as she spoke, and Castiel could see her hands shaking even in the dark but he had to give her credit for her resolve when she looked up at him sharply, and with hardened eyes asked, “Can we kill it?”

“We would need a silver blade dipped in lamb’s blood.” Cas answered, taking off towards the cow path and Daryl’s tent when Rick and Hershel both walked into the barn, out of sight for the moment, “There’s lamb in the barn, and I have silver in my bag, but Lori it’s dangerous. Just a single touch can infect you, and you might never wake up again.”

“Even if the Djinn is dead?”

“The victims oftentimes wake up if the Djinn dies, it depends how long they’ve been immersed in the dream world, but that’s the crux of the problem.” Castiel said as they rounded the tent, having made it across the path in record time, dodging ruts and holes in the ground as they walked only by the light of the moon. Standing outside the tent and not daring to go back in completely, less they end up wasting more time planning, Castiel pulled his bag from inside, digging through it until he found two small silver knives, handing one to Lori who eyed it uncertainly, “The Djinn toxin grants its victim a perfect world, where everything they ever wanted, their greatest wish is their reality. They don’t realize it’s a dream, and time passes slower there than in the real world, so in a span of a week the victim could live out their whole life in peace.”

“If a person doesn’t wake immediately after the Djinn is killed, then they have to snap out of their dream themselves, and that is a next to impossible feat.” Dropping the bag back in the tent Castiel bit his lip nervously and shook his head, “I mean think about it: if you could live out your whole life in a world where you had the one thing you wanted more than anything else… would you have the strength to break out of it? Even if you know that it’s a dream, why would you ever want to wake up and come back to the real world?”

“Daryl will come back.” Lori said, getting to the heart of his insecurities and while the sureness of her tone was comforting, it wasn’t enough to quash his anxiety.

“How can you be so sure?” Cas asked, twirling the silver blade between his fingers, “It’s not a guarantee, for all we know he might wake up as soon as the Djinn dies, but if he doesn’t… who could blame him? Why would he want to come back here and live in fear and squalor with the rest of us, dodging Croats and living a hard, desperate life when he could have all he ever wanted?”

“Because he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and he wouldn’t leave you here by yourself.” Castiel smiled despite himself, and it seemed to be the reaction Lori was going for when she clapped her hand down on his shoulder, “He loves you, Cas. Not a dream version of you, and not a perfect fake life.”

He had to believe she was right. There was no other option available to them. When he was an angel he could evaporate the neurotoxin, or go to Daryl in his dream to coax him out. As a human, there was so much up in the air. He had to kill the Djinn first and foremost, which was a feat in and of itself, and he had to keep Lori safe at the same time. And then, if Daryl didn’t wake up he would have to find a way to do it for him, to reach him in the dream and pray he would leave it.

As they took off hand in hand into the forest, armed with two silver blades and dripping a steady trail of blood on the path, Castiel had never missed his wings more.


	22. Home at Chestlehurst Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks again for the lovely comments and encouragements, you are all so swell! This one took a little longer to get out, but I'm pretty pleased with the way it turned out (I also posted a one shot in the same universe in the meantime, so check it out!). 
> 
> This fic is winding down, I think there will be maybe three more chapters then its done. However, this is only one in a series, so keep your eyes peeled for more.
> 
> Thanks again, enjoy!

The last thing Daryl remembered before being throttled into consciousness was squeezing the trigger of his pistol, and hearing a deathly loud click echo through the room. 

Opening his eyes, he found himself inside a moonshiner’s cabin, strapped to an old wooden chair, his arms bound with belts and his legs and torso strapped with rope. He could only breathe through his nose in short, shallow bursts, the binding across his chest far too tight to take a deep one, and his mouth covered with a strip of duct tape. He tried to move his arms to no avail, wincing as jerking motions jostled the IV taped to his arm, connected to a large jar of what he could only assume was his own blood.

He instantly felt like he was going to hurl.

“Daryl, stay with me.” Lori of all people was suddenly kneeling in front of him, having stalked over from one of the windows. She tore off the duct tape and grasped his chin in one hand, “Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

Looking around, Daryl saw the cabin was devoid of most furnishings. There was a ragged looking mattress in the corner, a space where kitchen counters and equipment used to rest, but was now gutted and empty. There was a kitchen table, the chair he was sitting in, a bunch of boarded up windows, and of course, the door. That fucking oak door with the iron hinges, that was rhythmically slamming shut and sliding open.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his throat beyond dry and his voice scratching on the way up, “I was caught by someone. In the woods, I was checking my snares. They knocked me out, dragged me back here… I think I was dreaming.”

“Yes, and you woke up. You’re a miracle, I can’t believe you woke up!” Lori huffed an incredulous laugh, the look of relief on her face catching, and Daryl couldn’t help but return her smile, “We didn’t know how to reach you, we wanted to get you out of here before the Djinn came back but you… are just full of surprises aren’t you?”

“I shot myself.” Daryl murmured, his head lolling to the side as Lori rid him of his bonds. He felt so weak, so heavy, “In the head, I thought if it was a dream, I would wake up. Everything was wrong, and it was snowing. There was ice, it was so cold. When I was in the Veil, everything was frozen too. And I heard Castiel.” As soon as Cas’ name passed his lips, Daryl straightened up despite his protesting muscles, looking around the barren cabin and not seeing Castiel anywhere. “Where is he?” Daryl demanded, and once one of his hands was free he hastily went to work on the other.

“He’s outside keeping watch.” Lori said softly, going to work on his bound ankles while Daryl ripped and tore at the belts on his arm one handed, “The original plan was to just come straight in and ambush it. We watched for a while, but Castiel said it was acting strangely… unpredictable. He wasn’t sure what it would do to you if we just barged in on it, so he decided that it would best to wait. Get you out first so he could kill it without worrying.”

“It’s still alive.” Daryl murmured, ripping the IV out of his arm once it was free and throwing it aside with a disgusted hiss, “Cas is right, we have to get out of here fast. This thing’s not right in the head.”

He could remember clearly now that the haze of the Djinn dream wearing off. He remembered falling from the cliff, that stupid horse spooked by a snake at the very crest of it while he was distracted, looking down the ravine at Sophia’s doll. He took a bolt to his side, stabbed straight through, and he had fallen twice on the way up the hill, having just killed two walkers and surviving only by the skin of his teeth.

It was no wonder then that the Djinn got the jump on him, he was delirious way before he made it to that clearing. He had been hallucinating Merle, the heat and blood loss getting to his head and thank God it did. He didn’t think he would have had the fight in him to make it up the hill if he hadn’t imagined his brother berating him like he used to, making cracks about Castiel that had Daryl seeing red.

The Djinn had knocked him over the head the second he entered the clearing. Daryl didn’t see its face, and didn’t know how it got him back to the cabin, but he could recall the sudden crack against his skull and an instant of blinding pain, before he woke up with a start in his dream. There was also the distinct memory of its voice, something he heard vaguely on the way up the hill and into the clearing. It had muttered to itself, random and incomprehensible strings of words that made no sense, its voice crazed and broken.

“I need to get out there. I need to help Cas.” Daryl croaked, using what little strength he had to push Lori away once the last of his bonds were untied, attempting to stand on shaky legs, “What are you even doing here?”

“Cas spilled the beans, and I made him take me along.” Lori gasped as Daryl plummeted forward into her arms, his legs weaker than he anticipated. Slumping to the ground, Lori sat him back against the legs of the chair and held a water bottle to his lips, gesturing for him to drink, “You’ve been missing for two days now, and when Castiel found where the Djinn caught you in the clearing, he couldn’t spot any tracks leading out. Your trail went cold.”

“How?” Daryl asked, his head slumping backward against the seat of the chair, “How did you find me?”

“Cas used a spell to track you.” Lori murmured, calling out for Castiel in a stage whisper as she looked around the room and checked the door, “Bunch of herbs and some holy water, and he said something in a strange language. He said by using it he could pinpoint the ‘psychic atom bomb you call a brain.’” Daryl raised his eyebrow at her, and she held her hands up in her defense, “His words, not mine.”

“Thank you… for coming to get me.” Daryl said, pushing away with the intention of getting to his feet, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the old oak door to the shack swing open wide, Castiel and a blonde woman tumbling to the ground, Cas on his back with her kneeling between his thighs, her hands on either side of his head.

Not missing a beat, Castiel pulled both feet up and planted them squarely in the center of her chest, grasping both of her wrists with his hands as he pushed upwards. With an ungainly squawk, the Djinn was flipped backwards over Cas’ head, shoved by his feet until she landed to the ground, her back hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy thump.

Scrambling to her feet, the Djinn wasted no time lunging forwards, snarling and attempting to grapple Cas around the waist as he stood with his back to her, but at the last second Castiel swung around, sending her flying with a swift punch to the stomach. She slid backwards, still on her feet towards Daryl and Lori, and Daryl pulled himself up, ignoring the blinding pain in his side and his pounding light-headedness as he pulled Lori towards the far wall, out of the way.

“Filthy animal,” the creature hissed, hunched over with the tips of her fingers skirting the floor and her other arm wrapped around her middle, “disgusting, fallen thing. Your wings smell like wood smoke and brimstone, you shouldn’t _be here_!”

With an angry shriek, she sprinted forwards, both hands curled into claws as she reached for Castiel, her tattoos fluid and winding down her arms to the tips of her fingers. Cas stepped back only an inch and she was grasping at thin air, stumbling in the space he once occupied as he planted his right foot firmly on the ground, the other connecting in a wide, arching kick to her solar plexus, knocking her flat on her back.

“Destroyer! Creature!” She screamed, writhing underneath him as he lazily straddled her hips, digging his knees into her forearms and pinning her to the ground. Castiel sat firm though the Djinn bucked desperately beneath him, pulling a silver blade from his belt loop and griping it tight in his right hand, his face cool and set like stone. “Murderer!” She shrieked, “You think the humans were the only ones you damned!? I know your name! I know your face, and I know that I despise you. The mighty Castiel, saviour of the destroyer of mankind, you’ve killed us too! You’ve killed us all!”

“You should have stayed dead—” Whatever she was trying to say died in a gurgle of blood, coughed up past her lips as Castiel drove the blade through her breast. He held fast as she twitched and jerked, her eyes wide and glowing bright blue, her mouth slack as she fell to the ground, the color leaving her face and her light dying as she did.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Castiel left the knife standing at attention from her chest as he sat backwards, hitting the ground between her legs. He had blood on his hands, dark and viscous in the dim light that shone through the boarded-up windows. He was no longer the picture of collected calm, and instead he let his relief seep through, wiping the Djinn’s blood off on the fabric of his jeans, and Daryl could see his hands shaking.

“Cas,” Daryl coughed, reaching out a quivering hand and beckoning him closer, one arm wound about Lori’s shoulders as she supported the brunt of his weight. Castiel didn’t hesitate, throwing himself into Daryl’s chest and burying his head against his neck, exhaling shakily as Daryl wrapped his free arm around his shoulders, “is Sophia here? Did you see her?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Cas said as he pulled away, taking most of Daryl’s weight from Lori and wiping sweat from his brow, managing to smear blood into his hair on accident but not noticing, “I looked around, I couldn’t find her or her… body. I couldn’t find any recent burials either though, and we would have noticed a fire. I don’t think the Djinn got her.”

“So, she’s still out there.” Daryl said sullenly, his heart dropping in his chest.

“Yes, but at least there’s still a chance she’s alive.”

“She was alive in my dream. I found her in a farmhouse, after falling down a hill and taking a bolt through the side, and she was sick but very much alive.” Daryl said softly, falling into step beside Castiel as he was lead towards the door of the shack, leaning heavily on the other man’s shoulder and sidestepping the Djinn’s corpse, “Otis too. He didn’t die saving Carl’s life.” His eyes widened in recognition, and he turned his head to look at Lori, who was following them closely with his crossbow looped over her shoulder, “Shit, what about Carl? Is he okay?”

“He’s much better, he’s healing fast and on his feet. And apparently, you took that arrow here as well.” Lori pointed to his side, the old bloom of dark, dried blood staining his shirt, with a rough tourniquet tied across it. Cas tugged him towards the door once again while Daryl was examining his side, trying to get them out of the old cabin and onto the path home as Lori changed the subject, “So, in your dream we were still here? There were still walkers?”

“We were happy though.” Daryl said softly, “We made a life for ourselves here, it was peaceful.” It _was_ a nice life, he thought to himself. One that seemed so perfect, he didn’t even notice how odd it was that his dream life, which could have been anything, was still taking place in the middle of an undead apocalypse, “Everyone had whatever it was they needed, and they were happy.”

Castiel’s eyes warmed as he spoke, and Daryl started as Cas pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek with a fond smile, a red hot flush stealing across his cheeks, murmuring “Let’s get you home.”

* * *

 

 

It was a lot slower going back than it was getting to the cabin, Castiel mused as they lumbered out of the treeline near the edge of the field. They had left just before dawn to track down Daryl, and already it was late afternoon, the sun beginning to set. He could only imagine the panic back at camp, when he and Lori were nowhere to be found. They should have left a note, he realized, feeling terrible for how Rick and Carl must be worrying. Thankfully they had made it back in one piece, with no Croat run ins to speak of and only minutes away from complete and total exhaustion.

Daryl was dead on his feet, and Lori (while deceptively strong for her size) tired quickly as they balanced him in-between them, his arms strung over both of their shoulders. She lasted longer than Castiel expected, sweat soaking through her tank top and matting her long brown hair to her forehead, only tapping out now that they reached the shoulder height wire fence at the edge of the farm.

“Hate to break it to you,” Daryl slurred as Cas took all his weight, letting Lori go free, “but there ain’t no way I can climb that.”

He was right of course; he was far too injured, and Lori was in no shape to help Castiel lift Daryl over the fence either. She was beat, resting her hands on her knees as she slumped forwards, breathing heavily. Daryl wasn’t the heaviest guy in the world, but he was solid enough that Cas couldn’t lift him on his own, no matter how badly they needed to. He was wiped out from the hike back to the farm as well, compounded with the fact that he hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. There were two gates, but they stretched off a good distance in both directions, and Castiel didn’t think that any of them had the energy to hike anymore than they had already.

“Cas, go up to the farm house and get Rick.” Lori said suddenly, helping Castiel lean Daryl up against a fence post, Daryl’s head immediately falling into the cradle of his arms as he struggled to hold himself up, “I’ll stay here and watch the woods, keep any walkers at bay. Get him down here so he can help bring Daryl to Hershel.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked, looking back and forth between her and Daryl’s exhausted, injured form.

With a dramatic eyeroll, Lori shoved him hard in the shoulder, “Go on, now. We’ll be fine… besides, you’re faster.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. With one last worried glance at Daryl, Castiel spun on his heel and hopped the fence, sprinting across the field as fast as his tired legs could carry him. He hadn’t let himself feel… much of anything as they wandered through the woods, not wanting to open the floodgates and let that burgeoning feel of relief flood over him until Daryl was safely back at Hershel’s. But as he ran through the field, the wind whipping past him and he could see how close he was, the farmhouse growing larger every second as he approached, he couldn’t help it.

They’d found him. Daryl was alive, and the Djinn had been dealt with. Lori was safe too, and he was so thankful for her help, not knowing what he could possibly have done without her. She had been his rock, the crux of his whole plan and without her help Castiel knew there was no way he would have got Daryl home safe and in one piece.

All he had to do was get to the house, get Rick down there to help bring Daryl up from the forest and then they would—

“Walker!”

The call echoed out over the field, making Castiel’s blood run cold. Stopping in his tracks, he wheeled around, looking desperately down the slow incline and expecting to see Lori and Daryl ambushed or surrounded. Instead, he watched perplexedly as Lori and Daryl looked up the hill, wondering where the cry came from, both relaxed and not at all under attack.

There was a ruckus from farther up the hill, Rick and Shane bringing up the lead as they sprinted towards Lori and Daryl, weapons brandished and followed closely by Glenn and T-Dog. Lori clambered over the fence, her hands raised and waving, shouting something Castiel couldn’t hear as the wind picked up. Daryl stood at attention, as much as he could anyways, his head lolling off to the side as he squinted blearily upwards at the approaching party.

It all happened so fast, and there were so many people, so many voices to contend with that when the shot was fired, Castiel didn’t register at first where it came from.

Not until Daryl went down, his head whipping backwards with the force of the bullet.

An agonized scream tore from his throat, and Rick’s group whirled around, finally noticing him off to their right. “No!” Castiel cried, sprinting back down the hill, the steady decline and wind at his back carrying him, speeding up his long-legged steps until he was rushing past Lori towards the fence.

He hit the fence post hard, not having time to slow his descent, but he barely noticed as it connected with his chest, even as it knocked the wind out of him. He scrabbled at it with his hands, pulling himself halfway up and almost over when Lori grabbed him from behind, hauling him off the fence and holding him against her chest. They both hit the ground, kicking up dust as Castiel sprawled backwards against Lori, held in a sitting position between her legs with her arms wrapped securely around his chest.

“Castiel, stop.” She urged, tears in her voice as she held him tightly despite his struggling, “Let Rick handle it, you don’t need to see this.”

Choking around every breath he took, Castiel could only watch helplessly as Rick and Shane leapt over the fence, shouting back and forth at each other while Glenn waved up the hill with both hands, yelling for whoever took the shot to stop. That they had a man down.

Castiel batted helplessly at Lori’s hands as he watched Rick examine Daryl’s wound, lifting him up into a sitting position. The wind roiled around them, blasting about his ears and though he strained to catch what Shane was saying to Rick, to what he was shouting to Glenn over the top of the fence, all that he could hear was Lori’s sobbing voice in his ear. She whispered words of comfort quickly and harshly, her voice cracking as she cried, and bless her for trying but it was no help at all. It only spurred on his own tears, his own hitched breathing and crackling sobs.

He continued to fight her, struggling against her arms when Rick called for Shane, both wrapping their arms underneath Daryl and hauling him to his feet. Castiel finally managed to break away when they hit the fence, his heart pounding near painfully in his chest as he scrambled to his feet. “Is he alive!?” Cas demanded, wiping unwanted tears from his cheeks and reaching out towards Daryl with one hand.

“It just grazed him,” Rick said, loud over the buffeting wind, as he and Shane maneuvered Daryl over the fence, “just nicked his skull is all. He got lucky.” He moved aside slightly, letting Castiel in to look at the wound. Daryl was knocked unconscious by the impact, though it was probably the last little thing to tip him over after two days of being nearly bled dry, and Cas felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders when Rick asked, “What the hell were you two thinking, heading out alone? And how did you manage to find him?”

“Later, get him to Hershel, please!” Pushing Rick’s shoulder, Cas urged them along, taking in Daryl’s pallid demeanor and shallow breathing, “He’s lost so much blood.”

Rick gave him a look that told him he had a lot to answer for later, but Castiel could only feel relief when he and Shane started up the hill, walking quickly with Daryl’s unconscious form suspended between them.

“Jesus, Cas I can’t believe you found him!” Glenn piped in from beside him, “How did you even—”

“Who did it?” Cas asked, eyes flaring with so much ferocity that Glenn took a cautious step backwards, “Who took the shot?”

Glenn stuttered, pointing up the hill to the RV where Castiel could barely make out the silhouetted forms of Andrea and Dale, both standing as they watched Rick and Shane carry Daryl up the hill. In Dale had a hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her back to the RV while she sobbed, hunched over with her rifle clutched in one hand.

“It was an accident.” Lori murmured, sniffling slightly as she placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him, “She didn’t mean to, she thought he was a walker.”

“She could have killed him.” Cas snapped back, shaking his head as he stared up at Andrea, “Accident or not, she only missed by a millimetre, she could have _killed_ him!”

“But she didn’t.” Lori attested, and when he finally turned to face her he relented, laying his hand over her own as he took in her tear stained cheeks, “And honey, she’s going to feel horrible enough as is.” With a gentle squeeze to his shoulder, he nodded his assent, “Please, let it go.”

“Y’all must be exhausted.” T-Dog said quietly, “And starving.”

“Yeah, and I really want to know how you managed to find him. And why you had to take off in the middle of the night to do it.” Glenn said as he started up the hill, the rest of them falling in line behind him, “Rick was furious, by the way. So was Shane, so I’d watch out for that.”

“He’s alive thanks to you.” Lori whispered to Castiel, throwing her arm around his waist and pulling him close as she spoke, “You did well.”

“I couldn’t have managed without you.” His thanks wouldn’t be enough to encompass the depth of his gratitude, and Cas knew it. If by some stretch of the imagination he could have freed Daryl, woken him up and killed the Djinn all by himself, there was no way he could have carried him back to camp on his own. They would have been trekking through the woods well after sundown, at the mercy of every single Croat.

There was still something nagging at him though, as he and Lori sat side by side later that night. Castiel had refused to leave Daryl’s side after Hershel had patched him up, stringing him an IV and pumping him full of enough antibiotics to counter any infection that might be brewing. The puncture wound on his side was the worst of it, having begun to heal around the dirt and grime that stuck to Daryl like a second skin, and Castiel was grateful for the sedatives Hershel had given him when he was forced to tear open the scabs and clean it properly. After he was stitched and bandaged, but still passed out Cas had pulled up a chair and kept a silent vigil, his feet up on the edge of the bed as he watched Daryl’s sleeping face.

Lori had come in later that night, bringing food for both of them. She hadn’t asked to stay, or whether Castiel needed the company. She didn’t have to. Instead, she had just pulled up a chair of her own, adopting the same position as Cas and handing him his plate of food in silence.

They sat like that for longer than he could say, listening to the clock in the corner tick off each second and while they heard the voices in the hallway come and go, no one bothering them. There was no knock at the door, and Daryl slept soundly as they watched him, his breathing deep and unlaboured, and his face relaxed in a way it only ever was when he was really, truly asleep.

The thought had been hovering at the forefront of his mind since they first approached the farm that afternoon, and now more than ever Castiel felt it dangling at the tip of his tongue, dying to be asked. “Do you still want me to talk to Rick?” He said tentatively, in a whisper that sounded boomingly loud after their extended period of silence.

He hoped she would say no, and that she’d changed her mind. Glenn hadn’t been lying when he said Rick was furious, and the instant Daryl was pronounced stable he had gone off on Castiel, no holds barred in that very room. The very fact that he had taken off on his own in the middle of the night, after Rick had explicitly asked him not to was to be expected, Rick said. Castiel never listened, and Rick knew full well he had told Cas that if he ever thought Rick was making the wrong call, to go with his gut instead. But for him to take Lori with him? To pull her away from her family in the middle of the night without a word and drag her into the walker infested woods on a hunch? That was out of line.

“She has a family.” Rick had told him, seething on the opposite end of the bed and speaking in a harsh whisper, “She has a son who, in case you don’t quite remember, was just _shot_! She needs to be here, and she definitely can’t just be running off without anyone else knowing!” He had leaned forward across the bed, Daryl’s sleeping form forgotten between the two of them as Rick stared Cas down, “If something happened to her, do you have any idea what that would be like for Carl and I? To lose her?”

“Yes,” Castiel had replied, “I do, that’s the whole reason she _chose_ to come along in the first place. I never asked her to, and I wouldn’t have even considered it if she hadn’t insisted, because she could understand too.” Cas had met his gaze just as ferociously, gesturing down at the man lying prone on the bed between them, “I know what its like to almost lose your family, because you’re standing right next to mine.”

Rick’s argument had died in an instant, and Cas just watched as his face fell, all the fight racing out of him.

“I care about her too.” Castiel said, sitting back in his chair at Daryl’s bedside, “Besides Daryl, she’s the best friend that I have. I would die to protect her; you have to believe that. If it were Lori missing, I would have gone after her just as fiercely, and I wouldn’t rest until I found her.”

“I can’t do this without her Cas.” Rick had sounded so small then, all his bravado and bluster gone, the façade he was striving to maintain slipping for a moment and Castiel could see he was frightened, “Me and Carl, we’d be lost without her.”

“I know. And I will never, ever let anything harm come to her on my watch. The same goes for Carl, you and every other person on this farm.” Castiel swore to him, “You have my word.”

Looking beside him now at the woman in question, he knew he could do nothing _but_ protect her. Every single person he lived with, he loved. Even those who he didn’t know all that well, like Hershel and his family, he would put his life on the line to protect them from the creatures he knew existed in the world, and he would do anything he had to keep them from knowing about the supernatural, at least for a while longer. Lori and Daryl knew, and that was already too many people who had their worldview shattered beyond belief for Castiel’s taste.

A part of him had always understood that Lucifer’s influence would spread, no matter how hard he tried to deny or ignore it. The story of the intended prize fight between Michael and Lucifer had been passed down through the ranks of angels since his inception as the one thing they were working towards. The pivotal moment in angelic history, that once it was past and Michael was declared the victor, they would have peace. The angels would be able to rest at last, and in the meantime, they fought to ensure Michael’s victory. It was what motivated them, the promise of peace and paradise, and they never questioned why Heaven, which was always supposed to _be_ a paradise, was until then a warzone.

They never intended for Lucifer to win, but then again, Michael never anticipated that his vessel might choose humanity over Heaven in the end.

When the weather started to change, and the crops began to struggle as soon as late August, Castiel knew it was the bitter cold that heralded Lucifer’s rise to power. And when the monsters that were once held mostly at bay by brave hunters, were left unchecked to run amok, starving and just as frightened of the Devil as humanity should be, Castiel knew it was only a matter of time before this small group of people he had come to care for were thrust into all encompassing peril.

He would have to tell them eventually. Sooner rather than later it seemed, if the influx of supernatural beings he had been in contact with the past few months was any indication, but he wanted to hold off if he could. He wanted to let these people hold on to their reality, even as it frayed around the edges, for as long as they could. And he would continue to work in secret, to keep the threats at bay, and keep them from knowing about Lucifer if time would allow, for their sake as well as his own.

Because as they were holding on to their humanity, he was gaining his. It was a push and pull that looped them invariably together, and Cas wasn’t ready to let it go.

So, when Lori looked back at him, and sighed, “Yes, but not now,” he was relieved.

“I think it would be too much right now, I—” Lori cut herself off, running a hand over her mouth as she turned towards the closed door to the bedroom, staring at it as if she wished she could see through it to her husband on the other side, “I’m worried about him. He’s holding on by a thread and I think that might be the last straw, you know?”

“Tell me when.” Castiel said, watching her closely, taking in the way she seemed to wring her hands in her lap, clasping them together over her light blue tank top before shifting in her seat once more, obviously anxious, “When you think he can handle it, tell me. I owe you that and so much more… Lori, you saved his life.”

“All I did was watch a door and untie him.” She huffed, smiling, “You were the one who killed the Djinn. Which reminds me…”

“What was she talking about?” Lori asked, and Castiel felt goosebumps trail up his spine as he knew what she was going to ask next, but he didn’t want to have to answer, “She called you a ‘fallen thing,’ and she talked about you like she knew you… what did she mean by ‘saviour of the destroyer?’”

Just as Castiel was about to answer, his mouth open and an agonizing, obvious lie about to tumble past his lips, Daryl stirred. Groaning, he twisted in his sheets and tried to roll over onto his left side, only to hiss as the stitches on the side of his head pressed into the pillow. His eyes were still closed as he grunted and rolled onto his other side, mushing his face into the pillow and flailing his left arm out wide, his hand landing on Cas’ socked foot while his other arm stayed pinned beneath his torso. He gripped Castel’s toes firmly and tugged, pulling Cas’ leg straight out in front of him as Daryl cradled his foot to his chest.

Lori stifled a laugh behind her hand, leaning over her knees to get a better look as Daryl curled himself around Cas’ outstretched leg, doped up and dead to the world. He snuffled softly, a far cry from his usual freight train snoring, but a sure sign he was restfully asleep all the same, and Cas gingerly lifted himself on his hands, sliding onto the bed and leaning up against the headboard without disturbing him too much.

Tangling his fingers through Daryl’s hair, Castiel busied himself with brushing thin wisps away from his forehead, carefully skirting his stitches as Daryl burrowed his face into Cas’ hip. “That’s amazing.” Lori murmured softly, shifting in her seat as she watched the two of them with utter fascination, and hastened to clarify when Castiel looked up at her in askance, “I’ve never seen you two act so openly affectionate before today. In the cabin, on the walk back and now this? It’s really nice to see.” Cas ducked his head and blushed, heat rising to his cheeks as Lori smiled shyly, running her hand up and down her thighs, “Maybe this whole experience knocked some sense into him, you know? Maybe you won’t have to pretend not to love each other anymore.”

Castiel smiled somberly at her, and shook his head. It was a nice thought, but he knew better. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” he said, curling his fingers around the nape of Daryl’s neck and stroking at his skin with his thumb. Hershel had cleaned him up as best he could when he stitched his side, ridding him of most of the encrusted blood and grime, but there was a thin sheen of mud that still caked itself to his neck and shoulders, something only a proper bath could clean off. It spoke to how long he was in the woods, to how hard he had searched before being taken captive by the Djinn and it made Castiel wonder when the last time he’d had a proper shower was. Daryl would have to take a long one, Cas decided, once he woke up. He deserved that much.

“It never is, is it?” Lori sighed, her voice falling, suddenly morose, “Cas, I’m pregnant."

It was absurd, and her delivery so out of the blue that Castiel laughed abruptly, a disbelieving snort accompanied by a sardonic grin as he glanced upwards at her, thinking she was making a poorly timed joke. But the expression on her face, the way her brow knotted in the center and the sullen set of her jaw curtailed his amusement instantly, and letting his head fall back against the bedpost he sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out slow while he went over what she had just said, making certain he heard her right. “You’re sure?” he asked after a lengthy pause, the hand on Daryl’s neck stilling, and though he was completely out cold Daryl still curled tighter into Castiel’s side, unconsciously feeling the energy of the room change, “I can go on a run, find a test if you need it, but we should at least make sure before—”

“Oh, I’m sure. I took two, just to make absolute certain and I’m sleeping in late, I’m exhausted all the time just like I was with Carl.” Pulling her knees up to her chest, Lori wrapped her arms around her legs, leaning her chin on her knees as she braced herself for his response.

“So you knew you were pregnant this whole time, and you still insisted that you come with me to get Daryl back. You knew how dangerous it might be, you knew we were going to be dealing with a supernatural monster and _still_ you came along?” Cas spoke slowly, carefully like he was tasting each word, rolling them across his tongue before letting them stumble out. He didn’t want to make her feel like he was reprimanding or condemning her actions… he just wanted to understand, “What was going through your head, Lori?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, blowing out her cheeks and shaking her head. She wouldn’t look at him, instead her eyes were fixed on Daryl’s blanket covered feet as they shifted against the mattress, glittering with unshed tears. She seemed frustrated as she sat there, jittering in her seat like she was mad at herself for not knowing why she acted the way she did, as if anything they attempted to do those days could be premeditated at all, “I didn’t want to accept it, I still don’t.”

“How long?” He asked, whispering even though there was no one around to hear them, something in the back of his mind telling him it was appropriate for this conversation. This was something to be spoken of in hushed tones, hidden away as though the walls themselves were listening, “How long have you known? Have you told Rick?”

“A few weeks, and no. I haven’t.” Lori said, sucking in a shaking breath, “With Sophia missing, and Carl on the mend I didn’t want to give him more to worry about and I don’t think…” Fingers digging into her knees, she finally looked up at him, glancing dismally from underneath her eyelashes, “I don’t think I want to keep it.”

“Isn’t that something you need to talk to Rick about?” Castiel shuffled under the weight of her gaze, sliding further down the bed and into Daryl’s weightless grasp, “If you got rid of it, and he found out that you didn’t tell him first, it would kill him. Doesn’t he have a right to know?”

“I don’t even know if it’s his!” Lori hissed, scrubbing at her cheek as the tears began to fall, “And how am I supposed to bring a baby into this world? To live a short, cruel life?” With a sharp shake of her head, she pointed out the window towards the campfire that shone dully through the curtains, “We can’t even protect the son we already have!”

“We don’t have a home. Our place here is so tenuous; Hershel wants us gone the minute we find Sophia and tensions are running higher by the day.” She was breathing heavy, panicked in a way that seemed to shake her to her core, “No walls, no roof… God, I am not giving birth in a ditch!”

“It’s not going to come to that—”

“Not when its life will hang by a thread from the second it's born. Not when every cry will put it, and Carl, and everyone we care about in danger.” Lori cut him off, rattling on in a tirade that would end nowhere good, working herself up into a righteous panic out of fear for her children, her loved ones, “That's not right.”

“But that’s our life now.” Castiel said steadily, firmly, “That’s the world we live in.”

“Exactly, so the humane thing to do—”

“You misunderstand me.” Holding up a palm, Cas stopped her in her tracks, his head titled back against the headboard and his legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His posture was refined, aloof despite the wicked truth he was about to impart on her, but he had to trust she could take it. She already knew about the supernatural, it wouldn’t do to let her keep turning a blind eye to their new reality. “The world has changed, and the way we’re living now is our new reality. And you’re right, it’s short and cruel, but at least its still living.” His eyes met hers across the dimly lit room, sharp and confident, “This is it. This is all that we have left.”

Lori shook her head, a slow rock left and right as she stared back at him, her lower lip quivering at the suggestion. “I can’t accept that,” she muttered.

“Whether you can accept it or not, I’m telling you.” Castiel waited a beat, silence flittering around them, and then as assuredly as he could manage, “This is it.”

“There’s no going back to the way things were before. There will be no one coming to our rescue. That world is gone, and that way of life is dead.” Lori choked in a crackling, tear soaked gasp as Castiel spoke, and his fingers itched with a desire to reach out to her, to hold her and ground her, but he was pinned to Daryl’s side. She needs to do this herself, he thought grimly, she needs to see the truth in this all on her own, “But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope of a future. Humankind has done this before, time and again you are all tested, whether by forces outside your control or each other. Your lives have been uprooted and remolded over and over, through war, famine, disease and genocide, but you still prevail.”

“You’re a summer child, who hasn’t known true upheaval and all of this must seem so overwhelming to you... it was to me, too. But this is _not_ your extinction event, and I have watched humanity triumph through more desperate times than this.” Castiel watched as she bit the inside of her cheek, her posture stiff and unnatural as she leaned over her knees, wide eyes trained on his face as she took in every word, absorbed it like a sponge. He could see the cogs turning behind her eyes, and as he spoke he could feel Daryl tense against his thigh, his breathing suddenly quickening as his snoring ceased.

He was awake, Cas realized with a start, but didn’t let on that he knew. He only gripped the back of Daryl’s neck tighter, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin behind his ear as he said with conviction, “You do so by not letting your pain and suffering defeat you, by learning how to exist a new way and not being afraid to _live_.”

“This baby could mean so much to you, and to this group.” Cas said, his toes curling in his socks and tensing up as he realized he was saying too much. He saw the look of recognition crossing Lori’s face, an understanding that he was not normal, that he didn’t belong. That he was other. But he could also feel Daryl’s hand on his hip, the firm pressure of his fingertips against his bared skin, his shirt rucked up just enough that Daryl could run his fingers almost imperceptibly along his hip, a soothing mimicry of his own ministrations.

“It could be a reminder that there still exists some good in this world, and that we can still create rather than only destroy. And I think that you at least owe it to Rick, and to yourself, to not run away from this responsibility because you’re afraid of adapting.” He pleaded, sitting up straighter and letting Daryl slip down onto the mattress, grateful for his willingness to play possum. He didn’t think Lori would be willing to talk this through if she knew Daryl was awake and listening, “You need to let go Lor, and you need to learn how to live now.”

Her feet hit the floor the second he finished, but she didn’t bolt. She didn’t stand, or move towards the door. She only flattened her feet to the ground, her hands lowered to grip the arms of the chair like she was on a throne, instead of the cottagey wooden seat she had stolen from around the kitchen table, her back ramrod straight. With her head held high, her long brown hair tumbling past her shoulders in waves, Lori looked regal, and as she held him in her sights she asked, voice steadier than it had been all night, “What are you?”

“I’m human, now.” Cas answered, twisting at the waist and lowering his own feet to the floor, his socks catching on slivers of wood as he rolled his toes, “But I used to be something much older. I fell three years ago.”

“How much older?”

“About seventy million years.” He said glibly, leaning forward on his hands as they fisted the edge of the mattress, “Give or take.”

“Oh.”

There was a significant pause that stretched out indefinitely between them, the ticking of the clock somehow louder with each moment it counted. There was only the sound of Daryl’s breathing, so subtly changed from what it was before that Cas would be surprised if Lori picked up on it. She seemed to mull over her next words, considering them as she looked away from Castiel, surveying up and down the walls, the doors, the furniture, before she asked, “How can you be so sure we’re supposed to survive?” At his confused stare, and the tilt of his head she explained, “You say you’ve watched humanity, then you’ve seen all the shit that we’ve done, to the planet and to ourselves… maybe this is our retribution? Maybe we’re supposed to end here?”

“No, that’s not possible.” Castiel said sternly, with so much conviction that she raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous and Daryl’s grip on his hip tightened, “You were my Fathers greatest, most beloved creations and while you have demonstrated that you are able to commit some of the worst atrocities against one another, you also have a limitless capacity for goodness, which far outweighs your capacity for bad. It was why He instructed us to love you, even more than we loved him.” Smiling sullenly, Cas stared up at the crucifix on the wall, “My brothers and sisters lost sight of that, but I couldn’t. And I would stake my life on your continued existence, I have died and would die again to ensure that humanity carried on, because I must believe that this is not the end. There has to be more for you, because only humans could take this bruised and battered planet and make it something meaningful again.”

“You’re an angel.” Lori said, and it wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact as she followed his gaze to the crucifix, “The Djinn referred to your wings… she said they smelled like fire and brimstone.”

“I _was_ an angel.” Castiel corrected, “Now, I’m just a man.”

“You _were_ an angel,” she repeated, breathing in deep and letting it out slowly, her fingers tapping on the arms of the chair, “and God is real.”

“Wings, halo, the whole nine yards.”

“Do you know why this is happening?” And there was the question he was hoping she wouldn’t ask, the one he had no answer to, “The walkers Cas, do you know why they’re here, or what caused them?”

He could feel Daryl’s hand on his hip, his thumb skirting the waist of his jeans a little more boldly now that it was directly out of Lori’s line of sight, but this was something he hadn’t told him either. He had been keeping news of the apocalypse from Daryl as much as he had the rest of the group and he was now stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Castiel didn’t want to come clean. He had already said enough; he had turned this poor woman’s life on its head in one night and he didn’t want to have this conversation again with her husband. And he would have to, if he told Lori that Lucifer walked among them and the walkers were a herald of the apocalypse.

But Daryl was there, he was conscious and listening, and he would know if Castiel lied. He was like a Castiel savant, able to pick out the most minute discrepancies in his voice and mannerisms, and no matter how hard Cas would try to hide something from him (few and far between, but still), Daryl could always pick out when he wasn’t telling the truth. He knew Daryl wouldn’t say anything in front of Lori, but he would confront Cas on it later, he could guarantee it.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t.” Cas lied, deciding it was the lesser of two evils, “I was cut off from the host before this even began, and I was so wrapped up in learning how to be human, and coming to terms with my sudden mortality that I didn’t get the chance to ask around.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lori murmured, “That you’re stuck in this mess with the rest of us.”

“Trust me, I’d rather be down here with the lot of you then up there with my siblings.” At her look of disbelief, Cas just shrugged and said, “I wasn’t a very good angel.”

“Why did you fall?” Another wonderful question, but this one at least he could answer, Castiel mused as Lori shifted forwards in her chair, her elbows resting upon her knees, “What could you possibly have done to get kicked out of Heaven?”

“I fell in love.”

“With Dean.”

“With humanity.” Castiel said softly, finally reaching out a hand towards her and lacing his fingers through her own, “With _all_ of humanity.” They both started when Daryl snuffled and turned, pillowing his head in his arms. Cas turned to face him, met with only his bare back and strong, broad shoulders as the sheet slipped down once more, and Castiel sighed as he tugged it back up, knowing if Daryl wasn’t playing at being asleep for his benefit, he would have fixed it himself, “Though I have learned, as a human myself, to love more singularly.”

“He’s a lucky man.”

“So am I.”

Cas smiled, hearing Daryl’s breath hitch in his throat.

“You know that your secrets are my own Cas.” Lori said softly, squeezing his hand before taking to her feet and letting him go.

“And yours are mine.” Leaning back against the headboard, Cas stretched his legs out in front of him, resting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and soothing him when he jumped slightly at the sudden contact, “I will always stand behind you Lori, you’re my family. But you need to tell Rick about this baby.”

She left without another word, just a rueful grin and a shrug, closing the door behind her.

With a groan, Castiel flopped onto his side on the bed, curling himself into Daryl’s side as Daryl rolled onto his back. Cas buried his head into the crook of Daryl’s arm, sliding a knee in between Daryl’s as he settled against him, arms wrapped around his chest so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if Daryl griped about it in a moment, or tried to push him off.

He didn’t, and instead Daryl pulled him even closer, burying his nose in Castiel’s hair and breathing deep, his hands trembling as they gripped at Cas’ shoulders. “Are you okay?” Cas asked carefully, tilting his head back so he could see Daryl’s face.

He didn’t look okay, his expression drawn and tired, dark bags circling the thin skin under his eyes but Daryl nodded all the same, running a hand through Cas’ hair and busying himself with trying to sort out the tangles. “I’m fine,” Daryl murmured, letting out a shaky exhale his wandering hand dipped down from his hair, to stroke across Cas’ stubbled cheeks, “I’m just glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

“I know,” Castiel said softly, his eyes drawn to the bandages wrapped around Daryl’s head, “I thought I’d lost you.” With a huff, he pressed his face into Daryl’s chest, running his cheek across his bare skin, “Andrea’s lucky Lori got to me first, or there’d be nothing left of her right now.”

Daryl laughed at his vehemence, and Castiel felt it against his cheek, a deep and rumbling chuckle that he sorely missed, even if it had only been a day. He had been preparing for the worst, and hoping for the best it seemed, if he thought he would never hear Daryl laugh again.

“Are _you_ okay?” Daryl asked, ducking his head and pressing his lips to Cas’ temple, the hand on Castiel’s shoulder tightening its grip incrementally, “Lori took that pretty well, all things considered but that’s a hard truth you just laid on her.”

“I’m fine,” And for once, he wasn’t lying. Despite everything they had been through, all the stress and grief of the past few days seemed to melt away in that moment. He felt nothing, just tired and sore… he couldn’t even bring himself to think about the ramifications of everything he just told Lori, “It’s nice to finally relax, and I could have used some sleep like five hours ago, but I’m fine.”

“Cas, I need to tell you something,” Daryl said, rolling over on to his side and laying face to face with Castiel, “I need to tell you what I dreamt about, I—”

He never got to finish his sentence before the door to the bedroom burst open, Shane and Rick stomping in without so much as a cursory knock on the door. With a startled gasp, Castiel leapt from the bed, tearing himself from Daryl’s arms and not halting his shaking stride until he was well across the room, standing with his back to the dresser. Daryl looked completely taken aback as he turned to face the two men standing by the door, and though Castiel couldn’t see his face he could read his body language. He was anxious, and probably angry, there was no way Rick and Shane didn’t just see them curled up together when they barged into the room.

This was going to blow up in Castiel’s face, he just knew it.

He’d only hoped they wouldn’t have an altercation like this until Daryl had healed. He thought they’d have time to relax and enjoy each others company before someone said something stupid, or commented on some obvious facet of their relationship, and it sent Daryl into a mood. He had been getting better, but innocent comments and his own fractious paranoia still managed to put him on edge, stressing Castiel out by association.

And as luck would have it, Shane couldn’t keep his mouth shut either. He took one look at Castiel’s pallid complexion, and the way Daryl refused to look at him and smirked, sauntering into the room and dropping heavily into one of the vacant chairs. “Hey, we don’t mean to interrupt nothin’,” he drawled, drawing his gaze between Cas and Daryl insinuatingly, “we just need to have a few words with your boyfriend here. Narrow down just what he found out, ‘bout Sophia.”

Rick kicked the chair Shane was sitting in hard, his lips drawn tight and eyes widening minutely in an expression to shut up, but the damage was done. Castiel saw the way Daryl’s shoulders tensed, the way his fingers dug into the sheet pooled at his waist and Cas clicked his tongue, frustrated. “You’re such an asshole.” Cas spat at Shane, catching his eye as he walked past towards the door, bristling at his put-upon, wounded expression, “You couldn’t leave it be for one night.”

Castiel walked calmly out the door, down the hall and out of the farmhouse, keeping himself poised enough to not raise any undue attention from the rest of the group, but inside he was fuming. Shane had made quips like that before, and to be honest even if he hadn’t, Daryl still would be on edge after he and Rick walked in on them, but it was easier to have someone else to blame outside of himself.

If Daryl getting upset, or pulling away bothered him, it was Castiel’s own fault. He started this, he let himself get pulled back into a relationship with Daryl even though he knew better, knew that eventually someone would make a remark, or give them a sly look and Daryl would get his back up about it. It was why he called their affair off in the first place, back when he could still convince himself that an affair was all it was.

But now, their lives were so inextricably bound within each other that he couldn’t fathom breaking things off with Daryl, and yet nothing had changed. They still had to sneak around, had to pretend that what was clear as day to the rest of the camp was all in their heads... as bad as it was, it was almost easier when Daryl was missing. Knowing that whatever he said or did around any member of the group wouldn’t get back to Daryl was freeing. He felt at ease with them, completely, for the first time since he joined them. And he found himself wishing it could always be like that, sparking a surge of guilt from deep in his gut that it took Daryl going missing for him to feel comfortable in his home.

Something needed to change, he decided, stalking across the lawn to his tent, fists balled at his sides. Once Daryl was up and about, they would have to figure out a solution, because what they were doing wasn’t—

“Cas!”

Hearing what he thought was Daryl’s voice shouting his name, cutting through the night air like a hot knife, Castiel stopped in his tracks, scarcely sure if he had imagined it. It sounded like it had come from directly behind him, on the porch but Daryl was still in bed, likely caught between Rick and Shane in a harried line of questioning.

But when he heard his name again, Castiel’s curiosity got the better of him and he turned, noticing most of the group that had been sitting at the fire were all looking up at the porch as well. Dale and Andrea, who had been sequestered in the RV since he had come back with Daryl both stepped outside, quizzically staring behind him. Another “Castiel!” boomed from behind him, and it was undoubtedly Daryl, his gritty southern drawl inimitable as he rolled through his full name.

Daryl was standing on the upper landing of the porch, his hands balled into fists at his sides and standing tall, his lower lip pulled between his teeth as he worried it fiercely. He had managed to get his vest on, though not done up, and it whipped against his sides as the wind picked up, the air crackling around him, almost electric charged with his anxious determination. He was barefoot, toes curling against the blue painted wood as he hovered on the precipice of the porch, swaying back and forth and looking like he was trying to make the toughest decision of his life.

Castiel had never seen him like this before. Not even in his most uninhibited moments, was Daryl capable of the storm he was brewing in that moment. The wind howled and the clouds moved so wildly, that the shadows cast by the thin glow of the moon danced against the ground. The lights on the porch flickered uncontrollably, buzzing and humming in static intervals, and the droning of cicadas in the trees surged in a veritable symphony of unbridled sound.

“What are you doing?” Castiel demanded, taking a step forward on the lawn, realizing almost as an afterthought that he’s forgotten to put his shoes on, and was standing in the grass in only his socks. His toes curled against the soft earth, the plants underfoot crumpling against his heels as he moved forward, only halting when Daryl snapped into action, bounding down the stairs two at a time, not stopping when his feet touched ground. He stalked forward decisively, arms swinging at his sides as he headed straight for Castiel, not slowing until he was directly in front of him, their toes almost touching in their proximity.

“Daryl, you need to go back to bed.” Cas stumbled over his words, his tongue like a lead weight in his mouth as he faced down Daryl, who was studying him like he was a puzzle he didn’t know if he should solve, “You lost a lot of blood, Hershel said you…”

Jolting backwards, Castiel frowned as Daryl suddenly brought his hands upwards, palms spread and moving to cup Cas’ cheeks. “What are you doing?” He whispered, looking pointedly left and right once he had stepped back out of Daryl’s impending grasp, trying to let him know that everyone in the camp could see them, that they were all watching with rapt interest. Even Shane and Rick, whom Daryl had apparently blasted past on his way out the door, were now standing in Daryl’s recently vacated spot on the porch, looking just about as confused as Cas felt.

But Daryl wasn’t swayed, and as he stepped forward again he murmured, for Castiel’s ears only and barely traceable under the swell of sound that surrounded them, “Just don’t move, okay?”

His breath caught in his throat, his heart ceased to beat and for a moment, when Daryl’s fingers brushed against his cheeks to cup his jaw, Castiel swore the crescendo that flowed around them ceased abruptly as Daryl’s lips covered his own in a soft, slow kiss.

Cas’ hands flew to Daryl’s own in an instant, his fingers covering the backs of Daryl’s hands as he held him there, suddenly terrified for him to pull away. What had gotten into him? What was he doing? What the hell was going to happen next? Each thought marched through his head, stomping and shoving, vying for his attention but Cas didn’t want to hear them. Instead, he leaned forward, moving his lips against Daryl’s in a smooth glide, his stomach fluttering as his eyes slipped shut, blocking out reality for as long as he could.

His heart jump started the second he felt Daryl move away, a whimper pulling itself from his throat as he found himself thinking this was all some cruel, cosmic joke, but Daryl didn’t leave him. He didn’t take his hands back, their toes still touched in the dewy, cold grass and though the entire farm was watching them, Castiel stared in amazement as Daryl rest his forehead against his own. The wind stilled, the clouds no longer whipped through the sky and the lights stopped flickering as Daryl looked down at him mutedly, licking his lips as he pondered his next move.

“You didn’t let me finish, ‘fore runnin’ off.” He said softly, and Cas melted into his hands as he felt his thumb caress his jaw, “I wanted to tell you what the Djinn gave me.”

“What?” Castiel whispered, his voice thin and airy, blood roaring through his veins and suddenly so very lightheaded.

“You.” And it was exactly what Castiel had expected, but it didn’t stop his breath from hitching in his throat when Daryl said it, the words puffing warmly against his lips as Daryl kissed him again, “It gave me you, Cas. In a way I ain’t ever had you, a way I ain’t ever let myself dream about.” He huffed and shook his head, letting his hands fall to Castiel’s shoulders as he gently pressed his thumbs into Cas’ tense, corded muscle, “We were happy there: it was simple, and it felt like home. Despite the end of the world, the walkers, I was content to just be there with you.” Castiel smiled despite himself, grasping weakly to Daryl’s wrists as he listened to him speak, the sound of his voice, as much as his words themselves, going to his head like cheap whiskey, “I mean Jesus, there were still _walkers_! And monsters, and other creatures I ain’t even heard about before, all inside my _dream world_! It just didn’t matter, ‘cause I had you.”

“That’s insane.” Cas said, shaking his head slightly, pulling back to get a better look at Daryl as they spoke. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a few people stepping away, getting back to what they were doing and giving them some semblance of privacy (gracious of them, seeing as they were standing in the front lawn). Others didn’t move an inch, as engrossed in what was going on between the two of them as Castiel was himself, gawking voyeuristically. But if Daryl noticed, he either didn’t seem to mind or was too caught up in the moment to care. It was a monumental shift, so completely different from what Castiel was used to from him that it shook him deeply, his hands trembling as he let them drift to Daryl’s chest.

“I know!” Daryl exclaimed with a cut off laugh, “But it is what it is, and I can’t… I don’t want to let go of that.”

“What are you saying?” As much as he was enjoying this unexpected closeness, the rather dramatic shattering of their (flimsy at best) platonic frontage, Cas was anxious to get to the point. He thought he knew where this was going, but he had been burned so many times. He needed to hear Daryl say it.

“I’m saying I don’t want that to be just a dream.” Hands gripped his shoulders tighter and Daryl leaned back, standing at his full height as he drew in all of Castiel’s attention, had him hanging off every word, “I want to be with you, and not be afraid. I want to wake up with you in the morning and drink shitty coffee, I want to go to bed beside you at night and not have to worry about waking up with enough time to sneak out. I want to be able to kiss you whenever I want, to hold you and touch you without looking over my shoulder.”

“Our lives were just as dangerous in that world as they are here. And the one thing that made it okay, was knowing that if I died, at least I died fulfilled. That I wouldn’t leave with any regrets.” He couldn’t breathe, he could hardly take it as Daryl pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist as he said confidently, “Castiel, if I had died today? Knowing that I let my old man, and my own fear stop me from being with you? That would be the worst thing I could ever do.”

“I love you.” Daryl murmured against his lips, ducking his head down into the crook between Cas neck and shoulder, before whispering in his ear, “I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t anymore."

“Are you sure?” It was near physically painful to push Daryl away, to use his hands on his chest as leverage to move away, forcing Daryl to look him rather than bury his face in his neck, “You have to be sure, Daryl you can’t take this back. I couldn’t handle that.”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my whole life.” And there wasn’t an ounce of selfishness, or deceit in his voice, on his face, and finally Castiel let the smile he had been holding back break through, grinning from ear to ear as Daryl asked, “If you’ll still have me?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” He laughed heartily, biting his lip to try and reign in his unabashed gladness, but failing miserably, throwing his arms around Daryl’s shoulders and pressing his cheek up against his own instead, “I would’ve waited forever for you.”

“Earlier, when we were in the woods, you said you were goin’ to get me home.” Daryl said, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s cheekbone and holding him just as tight, “I ain’t ever had a home, not really. There was a house I lived in with my family, then later a cabin with my dad. I lived on the road with Merle sometimes, or in tents and trailers but I wouldn’t ever say any of those places were home.”

“Here though, and not this farm, but with you?” His fingers tangled in Castiel’s hair, hand cupping the back of his head as he ducked, speaking softly into his ear, his words meant for Cas, and Cas alone, “I think we could make a home here.”

Nodding, Castiel turned his head to kiss Daryl once more, when Shane’s teasing voice carried across the lawn as he yelled, “Oh c’mon, get a room!”

His voice alone was enough to get Cas’ back up, just on instinct but when Daryl wheeled around and shouted, “What you braying at, jackass?” he could only laugh off his initial nervous response. It didn’t seem real, standing in front of all those people with Daryl’s arm still slung around his waist, but it wasn’t bewildering enough for him to overlook the way Daryl swayed on his feet, and the steadily growing bloom of bright red blood staining through the bandage on Daryl’s side.

“You tore your stitches,” Cas reprimanded, looping Daryl’s arm over his shoulders as he tried to lead him back towards the house, “you shouldn’t have run out here like this, you’re still hurt.”

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t’ve run off like that in the first place.” Daryl slurred, leaning heavily on Castiel’s shoulder as they walked up the porch steps. Rick reached out a hand to help, shooting Cas a questioning look that he immediately shrugged off with a shake of his head. He didn’t need help, and while Daryl may have been basically boneless in his arms, who knew how he would react to an unexpected and unwarranted set of hands on him.

 “Okay, you’re right.” Cas said with a sigh, making it through the door with only a small stumble, “But we need to get you back to bed so I can stitch you back up.”

“You ain’t leavin’ again, right?” Daryl asked, and though his head was hanging heavily, chin against his chest as he was suddenly overwhelmed by how exhausting his whole excursion had been, he was keenly aware of every move Castiel made as they wandered down the hall. His eyes were tight as he squinted up at Cas, nerves finally showing through as he let slip his mask of newfound confidence, just a little bit, and looking for reassurance Cas was only too glad to give.

“No Daryl.” He promised, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	23. The Barn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay!! It's convention season at work, and I've been spending all of my prime writing time in and out of conferences, so I apologize! But I have a week off, so expect some fast chapters in the next few days ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and as always, I love readings your thoughts/criticisms, and just hearing from you in general!

Waking up was especially hard on Daryl lately, because even though he was perfectly aware he was in the real world and not his Djinn fever dream, it still took a while upon waking to ensure everything was in its proper place. He’d always been an earlier riser, especially compared to Castiel (who wouldn’t wake up if the world was falling down around his ears), and while he still drifted into consciousness a few moments after dawn, he found he could no longer hop into his morning routine like he used to. Instead, he would spend the first hour or so laying still in his tent, watching the light move across the roof and taking a silent tally of all the things that were normal about the world around him.  

He needed to guarantee everything made sense, that all his memories added up and there were no strange anomalies that could mean he was somewhere he oughtn’t be. He would listen to Cas’ steady, snuffling breaths as he lay beside him, and the sound of birds greeting the sun as he ran through the events of the past few days, ticking off a mental checklist of things he could easily recall to ensure he was real. He needed to confirm he was there with Cas, in their tent, on a normal, everyday kind of morning.

And only then, when he knew he wasn’t dreaming, would he let himself relax and relish in the fact that the snoring, dead to the world fallen angel beside him was actually there, and Daryl didn’t feel the least bit apprehensive about it.

It had only been a few weeks since his abduction, and his subsequent dramatic declaration on Hershel’s front lawn. He had anticipated that once the drugs wore off, and he wasn’t being driven by Demerol and gusto he’d be humiliated by his actions. Daryl was never one for attention, and he hated being the center of everyone’s focus. He would rather they all think he was some dumb, obstinate hick than acknowledge him in any respect, so he sure as hell assumed that he would _hate_ for them to know he wasn’t some unfeeling asshole, and that he had someone he cared for.

He thought he would be nervous that he had let slip his guard and admitted to the world he loved Cas, which in his messed-up head would usually mean Castiel was now in danger, or could be used as leverage against him. Castiel was his weakness, through and through… but something had changed within him, the Djinn dream or the bullet knocking some sense into him, and though he still felt that looming undercurrent of anxiety, he could now push past it. Merle was gone, his father was gone, and if this group of people had proved anything, it was that they weren’t out to get him. They’d had plenty of opportunities for that, and the way they banded around Cas when he was missing told him he’d had them pegged all wrong from the beginning.  

He had gone to sleep that night (after letting Cas chew him out for ripping his stitches) wrapped around his lover on that four-poster bed in the farmhouse, and when he woke up in the same bed, with the same man curled up under his chin, he wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t humiliated, anxious or afraid.

He felt comfortable for the first time since he didn’t know when, and he was content to just lie there and take it all in. Daryl had tugged Cas closer and carded his fingers through his hair, had pressed his lips to his temple and breathed in deep through his nose, engaging every sense he had to confirm where he was. That he was awake and not dreaming. That Cas was there, drooling on his chest and Daryl was so perfectly satisfied he could have died a happy man.

It was Castiel’s continued presence that made waking hard and wonderful at the same time. He liked knowing he didn’t have to go anywhere, that he could rouse slowly and they could leave his tent together (not that they would; Castiel didn’t go anywhere without his customary offering of coffee, brought to the tent like the princess he was, but the option was there). But it also hearkened too closely to his dream, and when he woke alarm bells would instantly go off in his head… forcing him to lay still for hours some days, and convince himself he was there.

Not this day, however.

This day, Daryl woke up alone, well past his normal five in the morning, and he could hear people working back at the farm. Not much got started until around noon, so you couldn’t hear a peep from the direction of the house in the morning hours, and any noise was quickly drowned out by the sounds of the forest until the whole camp was awake and motivated. If he was hearing them loud and clear across the field, it meant he had slept in much later than intended.

And if Castiel wasn’t beside him, it was because he had been fetched by Rick himself. Daryl was still recuperating from his fall and abduction, and was unable to assist in the search for Sophia, so Castiel had taken up his mantle instead. Hershel was even more irate than usual lately, due to his dwindling medical supplies and the groups continued presence on his farm, and Rick was under more pressure than ever to show him they were trying to find Sophia and move on. That wasn’t the plan, of course, but in Hershel’s mind that was where things were headed, and Rick didn’t want to rock the boat anymore than he had to on the cusp of Daryl’s latest injuries. The fact he had lost Hershel’s horse also didn’t help matters.

Rick had been calling on Castiel earlier and earlier, sometimes waking him up long before anyone else in the camp managed to stir from their tents, though he always sent Lori to fetch him. If Rick pulled up to their tent himself, demanding Cas wake up before he was ready, empty handed with no promise of caffeine Castiel would eat him for breakfast. But Rick was a smart man, and he knew Cas’ fondness for his wife, so he took advantage of Castiel’s soft spot and sent Lori along instead, always with a mug of coffee in hand.

Daryl was always awake when Lori stopped by though, mulling over his memories and staring up at the ceiling. He _never_ slept in past Cas, so for him to make it so late in the day without waking once had a nervous fire sparking in his gut, and a feeling that something was wrong.

Groaning, Daryl pulled himself into a sitting position, his legs crossed as he hunched forwards, grappling for a shirt and pulling it over his head. He felt heavy and sick, the strain of inactivity stiffening his muscles as he dressed, and he kicked himself once more for sleeping in. They had stayed up too late last night, he mused, pulling on his boots without bothering to untie them. Castiel had been adamant they finish another chapter of one of his old books of folklore, and Daryl was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to him as the casual intimacy of their nights together bleed into their days, with a newfound freedom he never thought he was missing.

(He knew he was turning into an even bigger pushover where Cas was concerned, but when Castiel pleaded with him to work just a little longer, just until they finished the chapter on clairvoyance, he couldn’t say no. Not when he tugged on their laced fingers so gently, his brow furrowed over pleading eyes that were far too blue.)

The past few nights had been long ones, as Castiel held true to his word and started researching psychic phenomena and mediumship as soon as Daryl was well enough to move back to their tent. He had John’s journal, and a few old tomes he snuck with him onto the road, but as far as study material went, it was a lackluster collection. The books he had didn’t necessarily delve into the specifics of how to be psychic, and were more so a compendium of historical facts and phenomena. John’s journal had the names of some notable psychics, including run downs on some that he had met in his travels, but there wasn’t anything about how those psychics controlled their powers, or utilized them. And it wasn’t like Daryl could just call them up and ask for advice.

Castiel tried his best to fill in the blanks, but as he loathed to admit, even though he spent the better half of his life as an omnipresent being tasked with watching humanity, he only focused on two things: the extraordinary, or the mundane.

He explained to Daryl his penchant for watching humanity fight through its toughest, most challenging moments with captivation. He would sit for centuries, Cas said, watching years worth of events unfold in rapid succession, absorbed entirely in deducing why it took so long to reform the Catholic church, or what prompted the American Revolution, or how a human discovered the science behind vaccination when even the angels couldn’t figure it out.

And when he wasn’t absorbed in revolution and discovery, he was doing what his siblings regarded as a strange waste of time… observing the route of flowers and honey bees. The simple intricacies of an ordinary child’s birth. The poetic strength of a person suffering some benign, personal tragedy. He wouldn’t discuss those with his brothers and sisters, save for one, an angel called Balthazar. All but Balthazar thought Castiel was eccentric, that his hobbies were unfitting an angel of his rank and status, and that the banality of human existence was beneath him. Angels didn’t think much of human’s apparently, but Cas did. So, he watched the ordinary in secret.

But he never gave much mind to the paranormal it seemed, and Castiel was berating himself for it lately. “I had all of human history at my fingertips,” Cas had lamented just the other night, as he struggled to find the answer to one of Daryl’s questions in his negligible collection of books, “all I had to do was _look_ , and I would be able to answer you properly. I just never thought I would need to know anything about psychics…” He had sighed, rubbing his fingers across his forehead in frustration, “And I guess I never thought I would stop being an angel, either.”

Castiel tried his best though, with what little information he had to work with, and he managed to cobble together a basic program of simple mental exercises from components of various spells. They mostly consisted of Daryl focusing really hard on something or another, with a specific intent in mind, to see if anything happened. More often than not, it did, and he had managed to light a candle just by thinking about it, levitate a piece of paper for about a fraction of a second and heat a metal spoon until it was red hot.

While it was fucking astounding (and vaguely terrifying) to Daryl that he was even capable of such feats, focusing his natural ability was only half of what they were attempting to do. The other was attempting to damper Daryl’s homing beacon brain, to keep other perceptive creatures from spotting him the instant they peered into the Veil. Using what he knew of the ethereal plane, Cas tweaked a few meditative spells with the intention of letting Daryl mentally move in and out of the Veil with ease, so he could attempt to focus his power on the B-side as well.

It seemed to work. There was no way to properly test it, but for the most part Daryl had noticed nothing unusual. He had been worried at first that by moving back and forth through the Veil, he would actually draw _more_ attention to himself… but it actually seemed to do the opposite. Little presences that he was peripherally aware of slipped into the background, and he no longer felt random bursts of foreign emotions at inopportune times. By slipping into and out of the Veil every night, he was actually forging a wall between his perception of reality, and those that were trying to slip through.

It still rubbed him the wrong way, and he had so many unanswered questions it almost made his head spin, but he tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth whenever he could. He was safe, Castiel was safe and if levitating pencils would keep it that way, he would do it as many times as he had to.

Stepping out of the tent into the cool autumn air, Daryl shivered and pulled his jackets tighter around his shoulders. He could see across the windswept farm that almost everyone was on the farm that day, the only ones missing were Cas and Shane. “Off hunting for Sophia,” Daryl mused and he headed down the cow path, trying to take steady steps and not jostle his side anymore than was necessary. The stitches came out a week ago, but he was still tender and sore, and though he hated being on bed rest, he had to admit it was necessary.

“Hey, look who’s finally awake!” Carol joked, stringing up laundry between two large trunked trees, pausing to look him up and down as he approached, “How is it you can sleep half the day away and still look exhausted?”

Daryl shrugged, knowing full well the real answer was one he couldn’t say, “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.” To his relief, she only nodded with a small smile before turning back to her work, not pressing the matter any further. It was one of the things he liked about her, and why she was one of his favorites: she respected his right to privacy when he wanted it, and she understood in some respect where he was coming from, because it was the same place as her.

He’d seen the way Ed treated her, the bruises and the scars, the way she would flinch and startle at a sharp noise or sudden movement. He recognized so much of himself in Carol, but even more than that he saw his mother. Carol was kind and soft-spoken, and clearly intelligent but she had been stuck, caught in a bad place that she couldn’t get herself out of… until the world ended and freed her. She was one of the only people at camp, besides Daryl himself, whose lives improved after the walkers showed up, and during their short stint between the quarry and the farm, she had begun to come into her own.

Then Sophia went missing, and it seemed all she could do was make it through the days again.

“Cas went out with Shane earlier,” Carol said as she continued to pin a random assortment of clothes to the line above her, “said that they’d be scouting the south-eastern half of the woods, down where you found her doll?”

Daryl nodded at her when she looked up at him, and with a smile she said, “He told me to tell you he wouldn’t be out long.” Shrugging, she bent down to scoop more clothes from the bin and when he leaned at the waist to help her, she swatted his hand away. “He also told me to make sure you took it easy,” and she snatched a sopping wet tee-shirt out of his hand as he attempted to pin it to the line, “so none of that.”

“You don’t think sleepin’ till noon counts as taking it easy?” Daryl groused, holding tight to the hem of the tee-shirt as she tried to tug it from his grasp, “Besides, I’ve done enough resting for one lifetime, and I ain’t no invalid. I think I can manage hangin’ up some clothes.”

“Be that as it may,” she said, and yanked the shirt a little more forcefully than he anticipated, laughing triumphantly when she managed to pull it from his grip, “I’m not about to get on Castiel’s bad side. He may be big teddy bear most of the time, but I’ve seen him angry and I do _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that.”

“Hell, he wouldn’t get mad at you.” Daryl relented, sighing as he sat down heavily on the nearby picnic bench, “He’d give me shit instead.”

With a kind, pitying look Carol slid a basket of dry clothes down the bench towards him, “Here, if you want to be useful that badly, you can fold these.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel like he wasn’t a layabout, and he threw himself at folding those clothes with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Their conversation dwindled, as it usually did between the two of them, and that was alright. Carol wasn’t a big talker, and neither was Daryl truth be told. They both preferred peace and quiet over inane banter, and were content to sit in silence as they worked, the others reassuring presence companionable enough.

His side pinched when he raised his arms to fold a fitted sheet, but he ignored it, happy to be doing something productive for the first time all week. He had been set to bed rest by the good doctor, and for a while he was content to lay back and read… until they ran out of good books two days in, and all he had left were the trashy mysteries Andrea lent him, and the journal. He ended up bored out of his mind not long after he finished off _Birdsong._

After that, Daryl had attempted to get out of the tent and do something, but both Hershel and Cas were adamant he stay off his feet. They succeeded in getting him to stay on bedrest one extra day, and that was all Castiel’s doing (with those big sad eyes and a pouty “Please, Daryl? Just one more day, for me?” Daryl didn’t stand a chance), but after that he knew if he didn’t move around a bit he was going to lose his mind. Castiel had thankfully relented, once Daryl promised to keep his physical activity to a minimum, and Daryl started looking for things to do around the farm.

Unfortunately for him, farm work is hard work, and there wasn’t much he _could_ do until he was one hundred percent. So, he found himself most days doing simple stuff, like laundry, and helping with cooking and cleaning… shit he wouldn’t be caught dead doing if Merle was around, but that he’d done for their daddy for years after their mom died. And it seemed the rest of the camp was just as surprised as Merle would’ve been to see that Daryl knew how to do housework, assuming once again that he just lived in some hovel, probably. As much as he knew it should bother him though, it didn’t. Let ‘em think what they wanted to, he knew they didn’t mean nothing by it.

“You know, I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who aren’t afraid of a little house work.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Daryl nodded to Andrea in greeting as she sat down next to him. Her hair was gathered up in a bun on the top of her head, her cheeks and bare shoulders shone red from the sun (despite the chill in the air), and her rifle was slung over her shoulder, same as it ever was. Shane tried taking it away from her after she almost killed Daryl, but she was adamant about having it, and after they agreed to one on one gun training he’d relented.

She was a lot more proficient, and listened when she was specifically told not to do something now, but Daryl was still uneasy around her when he was carrying a rifle, and she never quite forgave herself for shooting him in the first place. Even at that moment, sitting with a tired sigh next to him on the picnic bench, she was careful not to get to close to him, and to lay her rifle down on the ground and well out of reach. She didn’t look right at him, and even when she was joking around she kept her eyes to the table, or off into the distance, and her sense of guilt was so strong it was almost overbearing.

Daryl wished he could say something to make her relax, the strength of her emotions nipping at his every nerve, but there wasn’t anything left to say. She had apologized profusely, he told her it was fine. Accidents happen. But it didn’t seem to change anything, and if she needed to work through her guilt at her own pace, so be it.

He just wished she’d do it away from him.

“Best watch your mouth,” Daryl grumbled, glancing at Andrea out of the corner of his eye, “or the next time its my turn to wash ‘em, I’ll shrink your damn clothes.”

“Consider my mouth watched, then.” Andrea said with a laugh, shaking her head and looking up at him for the first time since she approached, “Just leave my blue blouse out of it.” It was only momentary, and the second their eyes met she tore away, dropping her gaze to the table once more, but it was a start. “You must be crawling up the walls having to sit around like this,” she murmured, picking up a tee-shirt from the pile and folding it alongside him, “Did Hershel say when you could start heading out again?”

“Another week.” Daryl answered, tossing his pile of folding back into the basket and working on the other Carol had set beside him, “But that ain’t gonna fly, there’s no way I’m sittin’ around here any longer than I already have. Stitches came out a week ago, and I’m taking that as an all clear whether its meant to be or not.”

“Good,” Andrea hummed as she gingerly placed the shirt back in the basket, leaning forward on her elbows and resting her chin in her hand, “then we can get the full force back out looking for Sophia.”

Carol stiffened beside him, and he saw her stand up straighter as she reached for the full basket to take inside. Excusing herself softly, she walked off towards the house, her pace slow and her head ducked down like she was in trouble and it broke Daryl’s heart. He hoped that she still believed her little girl was alive out there, lord knows he had to… and it would be a damn shame if her own momma lost faith in her now.

Something wet splattered against his forehead and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, glaring up at the menacing sky. It looked like it was going to rain, it had since last night but though they were heavy and sluggish, the clouds hadn’t burst just yet. He couldn’t see any rain drops, but he felt another hit his cheek and he brushed it away with the same hand as he turned to Andrea, ready to ask for her help getting the clothes inside… when a bright shock of red on the back on his hand stopped him.

It was smeared with fresh, wet blood.

He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, certain he must have scratched himself or something, but there was nothing, it wasn’t even sore. And when he brought his hand away, there was no blood on his fingers, only on the back of his hand where he had wiped away the splatter of rain.

His hand held out in front of him, fingers spread and palm facing outward, he stared at it quizzically, gasping when three more drops of blood fell from the sky and landed randomly on the back of his hand.

Daryl heard raindrops begin to hit the trees above him, bouncing off the leaves and dribbling down to the earth below. He heard them smacking against the parched earth, a familiar dull slap, and he felt the reverberations as they hit the table he was leaning against. He heard rain, and thunder cracking overhead but all he saw was blood.

Fat, bulbous drops of blood plummeting from the sky, dotting along the clothing in front of him and staining the clean laundry, the fabric sucking in the thick, viscous beads and pulling it along its threads, like liquid through a needle. What started as a drizzle soon became a downpour, and the steady drip-drip-drop of blood became an all-encompassing rush, a flurry of movement and heavy sound as the trees ran red around him, as puddles of dark, syrupy red amassed in the mud and on the table.

He felt it run down his forehead, matting down his hair and running in thick rivulets down his cheeks. It pooled in his eyes, and he was certain if he blinked, his vision would swim crimson but he couldn’t.

He didn’t dare close his eyes; he didn’t dare look away from the barn across the field, because in that moment it was alive with color. It shone brightly and as the sky above darkened, as the world around him descended into a menacing sanguine glow. The barn was alight, flames billowing from the cracks in the wood and tumbling from the haystacks. They kissed and licked up at the sky, red drops of rain sizzling as they touched down on the inferno that roared from within. And on top of the heavy, churning downpour, and the sound of fire, he could hear walkers moaning.

Breathing deeply, shaking like a leaf he turned to Andrea, shocked to find her still folding laundry even as she was drowned in a shower of blood, her face completely obscured. Daryl’s hand slapped down against the table, his head pulsing suddenly with a sharp sting and she looked up, jolted by his abrupt movement.

“Are you alright?” Andrea asked him, blood running past her lips and pooling in her mouth as she spoke, and reaching out with a hand so covered in blood he couldn’t even see the pale hint of her skin, “You don’t look so good, do you need to lie down?”

“Don’t you see it?” Daryl whispered, his voice panicky as he hovered on the edge of hysteria and he struggled to breathe evenly, but the scent of blood and roasting walker gagged him, “Fuck, how can you not _smell_ it?”

She looked nervous as he spoke, her eyebrows pinching and her mouth turning down into a frown. She said something about getting Hershel, that she would be back soon but Daryl didn’t hear her. He barely noticed her as she ran off towards the farm house as his attention was back on the burning barn. There was something else now, a rhythmic squeaking, like the sound of a valve being turned and a voice he didn’t recognize murmuring over the din.

There was someone in the window of the barn, he realized with a sudden clarity, before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he hit the ground.

* * *

 

Castiel was happier than he could ever remember being, so naturally, he found a way to feel guilty about it.

Whether it was back at camp, or wandering through the woods as he was then, there was a nagging, ever present guilt that shrouded him. Things had been great for him, he mused as he weaved his way in and out of the trees, pushing back the reaching arms of overgrown bushes with his hunting knife. Daryl was home safe, they had resolved their issues and were able to do away with the deceit and secrecy. For the first time since he joined the group Castiel didn’t have to lie about where he went at night, who he spent his time with, or how. He was content with where he was, and over the past few weeks it had started to feel like he and Daryl were building a space for themselves, together. Making this space their home.

He was in love, he had a family and a (tarp) roof over his head. He had relative safety, food, water and medicine at the ready, and a plan for the winter ahead. Life was good.

But then he would remember that Sophia was still missing, that Lori was pregnant and that their asylum on Hershel’s land was tenuous at best, and he would admonish himself for taking what he had for granted. His was in a good place, but there were people around him suffering losses left and right. Andrea was still reeling from the loss of Amy, Shane was holding on to sanity by a thread and Rick could barely keep this group together. They were falling apart at the seams, and Castiel was sitting at the side lines, counting his blessings.

Cas clicked his tongue and shook his head, kicking up loose leaves underfoot and barely watching where he was going. He wasn’t going to find Sophia, he had no real leads in this area besides her doll, and it wasn’t like he thought she was out there anyways. He was doing this for Carol, and Daryl, because it was the least he _could_ do.

It was the crux of this guilt he was feeling, he realized as he wandered aimlessly, catching sight of one of Shane’s flags tacked to an elm tree. It had been months since he left Chitaqua, since he decided that if he were to keep living as a mortal, he would do it to redeem himself. To help in any way that he could as a penance for the hurt, and the evil he helped unleash upon these people and their planet. He needed to atone for his hubris, for letting Lucifer walk free, and while he decided that self flagellation was not the way to go (he could still make a life for himself; martyrdom was never a good color on him to begin with), he shouldn’t be the one sitting on a stockpile of good things when the humans around him suffered.

“If I can’t find Sophia, we need to at least find her body.” He murmured to himself, rounding an oak tree and realizing again that he had wandered into Shane’s half of the grid, “To give us all some closure, we need to know. And then we can work on Hershel.”

He was close to the creek where Daryl found her doll, but further down. This area of forest wasn’t as rocky or high up as the due eastern half of the grid, and the creek itself thinned out into more of a stream, littered over with sheets of fallen leaves. The seasons were changing fast and even Daryl, who was the most optimistic out of all of them on the topic of Sophia’s eventual rescue, had mentioned if they didn’t find her before the first snow hit, they weren’t going to find her at all.

At the edge of the stream, rubbing at the base of his skull with one large hand, his machete clutched in the other, Castiel found Shane. His back was to him, and he seemed to be staring downstream, the midafternoon sun glaring off the waters surface and obscuring his vision. The trees grew sparse the closer Cas walked towards the water, and he opened his mouth to speak a casual greeting, so as not to sneak up on him, when Shane started talking himself.

“If we ain’t gonna find her, then why are we even here? Why do you keep doing this?” Shane muttered, rubbing his hand across his face and looking sharply to the left, into an overgrown copse of trees before turning back to the water. His posture was rigid, his movements stiff and it stopped Castiel in his tracks, “Why not just tell them what you told me and be done with it? You keep on draggin’ this out, making her momma sit and suffer night by night, and that—man, that ain’t right.”

He’s not talking to me, Cas realized after a beat and suddenly he was awash with the sense he shouldn’t be out in the open. He couldn’t place where it came from, or what would happen, but he knew that if Shane found him in that moment, it wouldn’t be good. As quietly as he could, Castiel ducked behind a wide trunked tree, flattening his back to it and peering around its edge. It seemed Shane didn’t notice him, and from that angle he could see his face as he looked around wildly, his eyes wide and shifting.

He stopped moving all at once, such a smooth transition that Cas hardly noticed it until he brought his hand up to his ears and pressed over them, blocking any outside sounds. Shane closed his eyes in concentration, a frown tugging at his lips and he nodded his head, whether in agreement or understanding Cas couldn’t say. He also couldn’t hear anything, whatever or whoever Shane was listening to was speaking to him alone, and Castiel had to fight to hold back an exasperated sigh. Couldn’t they catch a break, just once? It hasn't been that long since the Djinn incident, and already there was something else, another supernatural anomaly knocking on their front door.

Unless, Cas thought, Shane’s just having a good old fashioned nervous breakdown. He shrugged and kept listening… it could happen. It didn’t always have to be paranormal.

Shane shook his head sharply, “No, no!” Castiel threw himself back against the tree with a start as Shane wheeled around, throwing his hands out to the sides with a shout, “I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t want to leave him behind, but it was the only way. It was the only way to save Carl’s life, you said it yourself!”

“I didn’t kill him, I did not kill Otis.” With one finger pointed in the air, Shane jabbed at whoever he was talking to, some invisible spectre that only he could see as he spat out, “I’m not a murderer, I _help_ people! I’m the only one helping people, you know it. Rick can’t do it. Rick is losing it.” He huffed, stumbling backwards and cradling his head in his hands. “I’m a better husband than he is.” Shane waited a beat, then laughed, “I’m a better father than he is.” And then, decisively, “I’m better for this group.”

Cas peered around the tree once more, his fingers curling in the rough bark as he squinted at Shane, not quite able to make out his expression but needing to see his face. “Make them see it?” Shane muttered, pausing for a moment before nodding once, then twice, “I gotta make them see.”

Inching forwards around the tree trunk, Castiel wasn’t watching his footing, his eyes trained on the back of Shane’s head as he tried to puzzle out just what was going on. So, when his heel came down on a fallen branch, lifting it from the ground and scattering twigs and leaves into the air with a deafening crunch, it took him by surprise as much as it did Shane. Cas cursed, darting back around the tree and flattening up against it, shutting his eyes tight as his mind raced.

If there was any doubt whether Shane heard him or not, it was doused when he called out a forceful, “Whose there?” Taking a deep breath, Cas peered over his shoulder, edging around the trunk to check on Shane’s position, but as he rounded the tree he was nowhere to be found.

Cas’ brow furrowed, his stomach a nervous mess of knots and jumps as he scoured the waters edge for any sign of Shane. He couldn’t find him anywhere, no trace of him left along the stream… it was like he had disappeared. With a sullen frown, Cas leaned back against the trunk, crying out in alarm when a thick forearm pressed up against his throat, pinning him to the tree as Shane leaned into him, grinning. “Hey now, little chickadee.” Shane said, his voice lilting, his face so close to Cas’ that his breath washed over his cheeks in hot puffs of air, “What’re you doing so far from home?”

Cas couldn’t respond if he wanted to. Shane’s forearm was pressed so hard into his throat, just below his jaw that he struggled to breathe, both hands scrabbling at the bark behind him. It caught in his shirt and scratched up his forearms as Shane pushed him bodily into the tree, leaning forward into Cas’ body, the brunt of his weight centered on his throat. “Well? What are you doing out here Cas? This ain’t your grid, and this ain’t your business… so why don’t you just tell me what you heard.” Shane spoke softly, but purposefully, his voice dropping as he tilted his head to the side and tracked his eyes up the side of Castiel’s face, “You eavesdropping now?”

With a gasp, Castiel reached up and pushed against Shane’s chest, both hands shoving full force into his solar plexus, but Shane didn’t budge. Confused, Cas shoved him again, and he still didn’t move an inch. It didn’t make sense, Shane might have had more muscle on him, but Castiel was a trained fighter, and at least two inches taller. He should be able to move him, just a little at least. Instead, Shane looked down at Cas’ weakly grappling hands mirthfully, like his pitiful display of defiance was funny to him, before he reached up with his free arm and clasped both of Castiel’s hands in his fist, _hard_.

Choking on a cry, Cas threw his head back further into the tree trunk as the bones in his hands crunched together, grinding on top of one another and a blinding pain shot up his arms. He coughed weakly, his gasps turning into wheezes as his airflow was constricted even more, Shane now leaning all of his weight on one arm and jamming it into Cas’ windpipe. “Oh, come on now Cas,” Shane said, gripping Cas’ hands tighter in emphasis, “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hurt you… hell, I’m a nice guy!”

Letting go of Cas’ hands, Shane ran his fingertips along the tops of Castiel’s cheeks, his eyes trained on them as he watched them skip along his skin. Castiel wheezed, his mouth gaping and in a blind panic, he couldn’t remember the last time he took a breath. His chest burned, his eyes watered and he could feel his throat constricting uselessly, but he couldn’t manage to gulp any air through it. His hands fell uselessly against the tree, the throbbing of his knuckles an afterthought to his burning need to breathe, and he kicked out his feet in reflex. It didn’t help, Shane was holding him up by the throat alone and the heels of his boots scuffed haphazardly at the dirt underneath them, rustling leaves and snapping twigs barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears.

“You forget everything you heard, understood?” Shane might have posed it as a question, but the tone of his voice, and the sternness of his gaze told Castiel it was an order, “I’ll let you go, but you cannot tell a soul… whatever it was you think you heard. Alright? Can you do that?”

As his vision began to blur around the edges, Castiel nodded frantically, as best as he could with Shane’s arm crammed under his chin.

“Good.”

Castiel gasped deeply, hauling as much air in as he could the second Shane drew back his arm. His throat and lungs burned with the strain, and he crumpled forwards, coughing and heaving incrementally as Shane stepped backwards, crouching to pick up Cas’ hunting knife from the ground. His head still buzzing, Castiel grappled for the handle of his angel blade when Shane cut him off with a laugh.

“That’s not necessary, Cas.” Shane said, flipping the knife around and holding it by the blade, offering the handle to Castiel, “I said I ain’t gonna hurt ya, unless you go and do something stupid first.”

Still panting, Cas reached out hesitantly, his fingers skirting the hilt of the knife before curling around it and tugging, trying to pull the blade back. To his surprise, he was hauled forwards instead as Shane wrapped his hand around the blade of the knife, the razor-sharp edge slicing through his skin like butter, but he didn’t even flinch. He just pulled Cas towards him by the blade until they were face to face, nose to nose as Shane’s blood dripped onto the forest floor.

“You go tellin’ Rick, or Lori bout this? Or even your little boyfriend?” Shane gripped the blade tighter, fresh blood gushing up around his clenched fist, and as he spoke Cas watched his eyes fill in pitch black, “And I promise you, the next time I get my hands on you? You ain’t ever breathing again.”

With one final grin, Shane let go of the knife, his eyes flitted back to brown and despite his grievously wounded hand he stalked back into the forest, whistling as he walked.

Castiel stood still, his hand still gripping tightly to the hilt of the knife, which still hovered in mid air dripping blood onto the ground, until Shane was past the treeline and his whistling disappearing into the forest. With a breathy sob of relief, he stumbled back towards the tree, his shoulders bouncing off the trunk as he slipped down to the ground. He was panting, each breath a struggle but he forced himself to clear his head as he wiped the blood from his knife off on his jeans. “Why did it have to be a demon?” He muttered to himself, his voice croaking and weak as he jammed the knife back in its holster in frustration, “And why is it never a nervous breakdown?”

* * *

 

When Daryl woke up, he barely remembered what he had seen. He remembered the smell of blood, a large uncontrolled fire, and the nauseating stench of rotten meat, but he couldn’t remember the details. Every time he tried to look at it, his head would go fuzzy and he would have to stop, lest he pass out again, and with the random assortment of people hovering around him on Hershel’s porch, he didn’t want to risk it.

The doctor and Rick had moved him up there once he came to. It had only been a few seconds, Andrea said, speaking nervously over their shoulders as Hershel listened to his heartbeat and took his pulse. He said something strange about a smell, and when she got up to get Hershel, Daryl had hit the floor.

“You ever had a stroke before, son?” Hershel asked him, stethoscope pressed to his inner arm as the sphygmomanometer inflated around his bicep, “Any family history of heart disease?”

Daryl shook his head to both, there was nothing that he knew of and besides, it wasn’t like they could ever afford to see a doctor anyways. He knew that this wasn’t medical, but it wasn’t like he could tell Hershel that he’d had a psychic vision, and that he should be less worried about Daryl’s heart, and more about his barn burning down. That would not go over well, especially since the old man was already itching to get them off his land. The last thing they needed was for Hershel to think he was crazy.

“Well then, I don’t know what to tell you.” Hershel said, unwrapping his arm and sitting back on his heels, “You seem perfectly healthy, blood pressure is normal… you just seemed to have fainted.”

“But what about the strange stuff he was saying?” Andrea interjected, leaning against the white sided wall of the farmhouse, her arms crossed over her chest and a tight, worried expression on her face, “Daryl, you said you were seeing something and you looked—” She cut herself off sharply, shaking her head once and biting her lower lip, before whispering, “You were terrified.”

“I don’t remember any of that.” Daryl lied through his teeth, trying to block out the memory of blood pooling in his eyes, the coppery smell of it as it splattered the ground and the unholy glow of the burning barn, “All I know is one minute I was sitting, folding laundry at the picnic table and the next, I was up here getting poked at and prodded like fucking cattle.” When Hershel coughed, and looked at him pointedly, Daryl was quick to add, “Which I appreciate, of course.”

“Maybe you just ain’t ready to be up and about yet,” Rick said, standing up from his crouched position at Hershel’s side and offering a hand to help the doctor to his feet, “You’re still weak, especially if you’re fainting like this. Don’t push yourself too hard… sure, we do need you, but only when you’re better.”

“Oh no,” Daryl shook his head fervently, eyes darting back and forth between Hershel and Rick, “Hell no! One week of bedrest is long enough, I can’t keep sittin’ around all day doing jack squat.” He huffed, blowing out his cheeks in frustration, “I’m already going nuts from being stuck on this farm, I’m not bein’ put on lock down again. Nuh-uh, no way.”

Sighing, Rick and Hershel shared a withering look, before Rick said, “It’s up to you man, you know we can’t strap you down till you get better.” But with a pointed glance out towards Daryl’s tent on the outskirts of the farm, he added, “Just think about taking it easy, alright? You ain’t got just you to think about now, y’hear? You got Cas, too.”

Hershel snorted at that, jamming a hand in his pocket and shaking his head with a smile, “I have never in all my years seen a more devoted partner, and mark my words son, the second he hears about your episode today?” He raised an eyebrow at Daryl, mercifully ignoring the bright red flush that stole across Daryl’s cheeks, “He’s going to be the one you’ll have to contend with, not the two of us.”

“Speak of the devil,” Andrea said, pushing off of the wall and staring down the porch steps at what Daryl could only assume was Castiel, as the porch wall blocked the lawn from view. She smiled and stepped forward, her hand raised in greeting, “Hey Cas, when did you… oh my god, what happened?!”

Daryl was on his feet in an instant, with Rick at his side helping him as he muttered a frustrated, “Careful!” Ricks hand grasped at his shoulder, but it wasn’t necessary. Daryl was able to hold himself up, and his hand fisted overtop the porch railing just in case as he stared down at Cas, who was standing at the foot of the steps, begrudgingly letting himself be looked over by Hershel.

Andrea’s worry wasn’t misplaced, and one look at Cas had Daryl’s heart clenching and him seeing red.

His hands were swollen, the knuckles bruised and battered, and the backs of his forearms were scratched to shit… but that wasn’t what concerned him the most. What set Daryl’s blood boiling was the slowly darkening bruise, angry and purple, stretching along his throat just under his jaw. Daryl knew that bruise, he’s seen it on himself far too many times to count.

Someone had strangled him.

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaked, his voice harsh and deeper than usual, “I got jumped by a few walkers in the woods, I was outnumbered a-and I got knocked around a bit.” He was lying, Daryl knew it right off the bat, and the way Cas’ eyes flickered up to his face as he spoke said he knew it too, “I managed to get away, and I lost them in the woods but the damage was already done.”

“It doesn’t look like your hands are broken, so thank goodness for that.” Hershel said, releasing said hands and letting them fall back down to Castiel’s sides, “But that bruise on your neck…”

“One of the Croats, it crushed me after I killed it.” Cas hastily explained, bringing one bruised hand up to cover the marks on his throat, “pinned me down, and I was trapped under it for a while. I couldn’t breathe. I managed to get out though, and I promise I’m fine.” Changing the subject, he broke away from an entirely unconvinced Hershel and walked up the stairs to Daryl, ignoring everyone else along the way until he was standing face to face with him, battered hand cupping his chin so he could get a good look at Daryl’s face, “Lori told me you _fainted_?”

The emphasis he put on fainted told Daryl that Lori had assumed the cause of his episode, thinking correctly that it wasn’t something normal or natural, and had passed this information along to Cas. Daryl nodded sullenly, flicking his eyes down to the bruise at Cas’ throat pointedly, his nostrils flaring in barely contained anger as Castiel looked at him helplessly, shaking his head. Not know, Cas said to him wordlessly, the tilt of his lips and the furrowing of his brow telling Daryl he would fill him in on everything, as soon as they had some privacy.

Glancing back and forth between Daryl and Cas, and back again, Rick finally let go of Daryl’s shoulder with a sigh and stepped back. “Well, since I feel like I’m intruding here,” he said good-naturedly, clapping a hand on Cas’ back with a smile, “I think we’ll leave you to it. Cas, I expect you’ll come find me when you have a moment tonight? Tell me what you’ve found?”

“Of course.” Cas replied, breaking eye contact with Daryl to give Rick a pleasant nod and a smile. He waved off Andrea and Hershel, and gave the doctor his thanks as they walked away, content to keep up appearances for their sake, but Daryl was not at all in the mood. The second the group had their backs turned, he grabbed Castiel by the wrist, careful of his injured hands and tugged him along the porch, rounding the corner until they were out of sight of the group before sitting down on the old wooden floor, pulling Cas down with him.

“Talk.” Daryl demanded, his voice stern and eyes focused on Castiel’s face, while he ran his fingers tenderly over the angry looking bruise on his throat, “Cause this sure as hell didn’t come from no walker.” He locked eyes with Cas, “Who did this to you?"

“You have to promise me you’ll let me finish.” Castiel said carefully, crossing his legs and pulling Daryl’s hand down from his throat, stroking his thumb soothingly over his knuckles.

“Fuck no, someone choked you out!” Daryl spat incredulously, his voice louder than he anticipated and judging by Cas’ wide eyed look of panic, Daryl’s intensity had taken him by surprise too. He carried on in a harsh whisper, “No one lays a hand on you Cas. I swear to god, I’ll kill ‘em.”

“While your resolve is touching,” Castiel said drolly, “he wasn’t himself. And now that I think of it, I don’t think he’s been himself for a long time.”

“What are you talking about?” The look on Castiel’s face was worrying him, even more than his strained, scratchy voice and Daryl waited for him to respond before he went off on a tirade.

“Shane.” Daryl jerked, attempted to climb to his feet when Cas grabbed both of his hands tight and pulled him back down to the ground, “Damn it, Daryl I’m trying to tell you something! Stop the machismo shit and listen!”

Sucking his teeth, Daryl crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the wall and waited for Castiel’s explanation.

“I wandered into his section of the woods today, and I heard him talking to himself.” Castiel whispered, leaning into Daryl’s space and looking hastily over his shoulder, like he was afraid someone would be listening in, “And not like a normal, everyone-does-it-when-they’re-alone kind of talking to himself… more like he was having a whole conversation with someone who wasn’t there. Waiting, and listening, to their responses.”

“And he strangled you why, exactly?” Daryl asked heatedly, unfazed by Cas’ eyeroll, “Because you caught him talking to himself in the woods?”

“Yes,” Cas hissed as he slid closer, his chin basically resting on Daryl’s shoulder as he spoke into his ear, “he was arguing, saying that he was a good person, and that if this… thing he was speaking to knew where Sophia was, why couldn’t it just tell him.” Cas inhaled sharply, his breathing shaky and Daryl felt that burning fury wash out of him with each puff of air that ghosted across his skin, replaced with an intense need to comfort Castiel instead. He tilted his head to the side, his temple resting against Cas’ forehead, and he brought his left hand up to his head, tangling his fingers in his hair as Castiel said softly, “He admitted to killing Otis.”

That Shane killed Otis at all wasn’t a surprise to either of them. The night Shane came back, when he told his sob story about Otis dying a hero, covering Shane so he could get back and save Carls life? Both he and Cas noticed he didn’t just come back with the ventilator. He also had the dead mans gun. That night, curled up together in Daryl’s tent they’d talked extensively about it, running through hypothetical scenarios of what could have happened, trying to come up with one that made sense, without assuming Shane killed Otis, or worse, left him to die.

They couldn’t think of a single one.

Since then, they’d decided to keep their distance. Cas was still pleasant, and talked to Shane on occasion… and Daryl was Daryl, who didn’t talk to anybody unless he needed to, outside of Carol and Cas. It helped that Shane was on edge since they stopped moving to Fort Benning and settled down to look for Sophia. It made keeping their distance more manageable and less suspicious.

But for him to attack Cas? Regardless of how unhinged he was, that was unacceptable to Daryl. He clenched his jaw when Castiel continued, his bruised hands curling around Daryl’s upper arm as Cas leaned heavily on his shoulder. “He caught me listening,” Cas said softly, “and he pinned me to the tree by the throat.”

Daryl’s arm had slipped down from his hair as he spoke, and when those words left Castiel’s lips his hand gripped tightly to his shoulder.

“I tried to push him off, but he was so much stronger than me. Than he had any right to be.” Daryl could hear it in Cas’ voice, that far away tone he only got when he was thinking and talking at the same time, when his mind was extrapolating on a subject his mouth hadn’t caught up with yet. He was trying to work out what he thought he’d experienced as he recounted it to Daryl, “And when he saw what I was trying to do, he did this to my hands… with only one of his.”

Daryl’s fingers dug into Cas’ shoulder even tighter than before, and every muscle in his body drew taut like a bowstring.

“He almost killed me, I couldn’t breathe and he was just holding me up by the throat, with one arm.” Castiel exhaled nervously, burrowing further into Daryl’s neck and speaking softly against his skin, “And he only let me go when I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone what I heard.”

Daryl snapped.

“And you’re telling me _not_ to kick his ass? Why?” He demanded, pushing Castiel away just enough that he could turn and look him in the eye.

He looks exhausted, Daryl thought to himself, his heart clenching at the sight of the deep bags under his eyes, which were flat and dull, a pale comparison to their brilliant luster the night before. Cas’ face was drawn, and the horrid, tender bruise under his jaw stood in stark contrast to his sallow complexion. With a deep sigh, Daryl rearranged them both, tugging gently at Castiel’s arms and positioning him between Daryl’s spread thighs, Cas’ back to his chest as he leaned against the wall of the farmhouse, his chin hooked over Castiel’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl murmured, kissing Castiel’s cheek softly, “I don’t mean to keep pressing the issue, but Cas, he can’t just get away with doing this to you.” He heard Cas’ breath hitch as Daryl pressed his lips to the side of Castiel’s throat, “So unless you tell me he’s possessed or some shit, then—”

“Yes.”

“What?” Leaning forward over Cas’ shoulder so he could look him in the eye, Daryl asked, “Possessed by what?”

“By a demon.” Cas said, gnawing at his lower lip and turning slightly to face Daryl, but not pulling away, “I watched his eyes turn black. It was only for a moment, but combined with the unnatural strength, and the anger, it makes sense.” He clicked his tongue and looked out over the railing of the porch, “The only thing that doesn’t add up was that he was talking to himself. Or rather, arguing. Demons don’t normally let the people they’re possessing come to the surface, they usually just tamp them down and out of the way, but Shane was in control for a while there, and he was aware of being possessed. He was _reasoning_ with it.”

“So, it’s not a normal demon.” Daryl mused, bringing his thumb up between his teeth and chewing on his nail as he mulled over all that Cas was telling him, “How long do you think he’s been possessed for? And what should we do? I mean, he’s clearly dangerous. How can we let him walk around like a ticking time bomb, when we have no idea when he’s goin’ to go off?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel groused, leaning sideways against Daryl’s chest and tucking his forehead into the crook of his neck, right under his chin, “I don’t know what he was like before all of this, so I can’t say for sure how long its been, but its at least as long as the C.D.C. He tried to attack Lori.”

“Jesus,” Daryl murmured, his arm flexing around Cas’ middle, “How do you deal with a demon? An exorcism, right?”

“Yes, but it won’t be easy.” Frowning deeply, Castiel counted off on his fingers, “We’re going to need to lay a devil’s trap for him, trick him into stepping inside of it and then perform the exorcism. Or, we could use a Palo Santo stake, but we would risk seriously injuring him in the process, and the stress of an exorcism on a human’s body is already too great… he would most certainly die. And that’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

“Lori’s pregnant,” Castiel said after a short pause, pulling back just so he could say it to Daryl’s face, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you were still recovering and she begged me not to tell anyone.”

If Daryl looked at all perturbed, he was certain it wasn’t because Cas had hidden something from him. It was because he didn’t understand the correlation between Lori’s pregnancy and Shane being possessed by a demon. He stayed silent as he mulled it over, the gears in his head turning, trying to follow Castiel’s train of thought with only half of the information before giving up with a sigh. “I have no idea what that has to do with anything,” Daryl said plainly.

“She was sleeping with Shane before Rick came back, right?” Cas waited for Daryl’s nod before continuing, “Well, she told me she doesn’t know who the father is. And under normal circumstances, who gives a shit? Shane or Rick, it doesn’t make a difference, it would still just be a baby. But if Shane was possessed by this demon when Lori conceived _his_ child…”

“Then she’s carrying a demon baby.” Daryl deadpanned. His heart dropped in his chest, and though he didn’t understand the extent of what that meant for Lori, or the group at large, the solemnity of Castiel’s expression told him it wasn’t anything good.

“They’re called many things in the lore, and the correct name is Cambion, but you may be more familiar with the term Antichrist.” Castiel said softly, and Daryl laughed despite himself, a sharp snort that took him by surprise. It fucking figured…

“Isn’t the Antichrist supposed to be the devil’s kid?” he asked.

“The bible gets more wrong than it does right, so technically, no.” Cas turned in his arms once more, flopping back against his chest and tugging on Daryl’s arm, pulling his thumb from between his teeth, “A Cambion is demon spawn born of a human woman, and they’re terrifyingly powerful. They don’t show it when they’re born, but as they age they grow into their power, and a full grown Cambion is capable of killing the Host of Heaven with a single word. Angels have been sent before to kill them at the moment of their birth, just to mitigate the threat before it grows past their control.”

“Well, they ain’t coming this time.” Daryl muttered, twisting his fingers in the hem of Cas’ tee shirt, “How do we tell if its Satan spawn or not?”

Castiel shook his head and shrugged, “We won’t know until it’s born. Cambions don’t breathe, and they have no pulse until they turn seven years old and come into their power. That’s when they’re most dangerous.” His hands clasped over Daryl’s arms, and the mottled bruises stood out in the fading light of the sun, sharply contrasted to his smooth skin, “The only way we could know for sure? We would have to interrogate the demon before exorcising it. Figure out when it possessed Shane to the day. Other than that? We have to wait.”

“Do we tell Lori?” Daryl asked after a lengthy pause, the words heavy on his tongue.

“No.” Cas’ response was stern and abrupt, “No way in hell do we ever tell her. It would be the death of her, and that child. If she knew there was even a possibility she was carrying a demon child? She wouldn’t be able to deal with it.”

“And what if it _is_  a demon, Cas?” Daryl tried to keep his voice calm and level. Castiel wasn’t thinking straight, he could hear it in the strained tone of voice and he could feel it in the way he stiffened against him. Lori was Castiel’s friend, his family and Daryl knew that his love for her was clouding his judgement, but there was so much more he wasn’t taking into account, “Do we take her baby away once she’s carried it around for nine months? After she’s bonded with it, and prepared for it? When she’s lookin’ forward to it? How would keeping this a secret help her then, when we have to take and kill her child?”

“I don’t know!” Cas snapped, pushing away suddenly and crossing his arms over his chest, “I only know that this would kill her. I’ve never done this, Daryl! I’ve dealt with Cambion before, with Sam and Dean, but that child… he’s out there still somewhere, and who knows what havoc he’s wrought. I can’t take that chance, and we couldn’t let this baby live if it’s a demon’s spawn, but there’s a chance—”

“There’s a chance that it’s Rick’s... or Shane’s, before he was possessed.”

“There’s a chance it’s just a normal, human child.” Castiel’s voice wavered, “But if we told Lori, regardless of the fact that she’s chosen to keep it, that she’s told me she wants it? She wouldn’t see that there was a fifty-fifty chance. All she would be able to think is there might be a demon growing inside of her. And she wouldn’t hesitate to be rid of it.”

Daryl tried to bite his tongue, he really did. He could see how upset Cas already was, but he couldn’t just gloss over the reality of their situation because it was uncomfortable. “That’s her choice,” he said, placing a hand on Cas’ knee in a gesture he hoped translated to comfort and not placation, “and she deserves to have all of the facts ahead of time, man. You know that tellin’ her is the right thing to do, I know you do. And I know you just want to protect her, but by making this decision for her? You’re sayin’ she’s not fit to think for herself.”

Castiel’s features clouded, and he pursed his lips tightly for a moment, clearly wanting to snap back at Daryl… but he didn’t. He thought about it, and Daryl could see him going through what he had just said, chewing his words and really taking them in before he finally breathed a sullen, “You’re right.” Cas ran a hand down his face, shaking his head in agreement, “You’re absolutely right, we have to tell her.”

“I’m not sayin’ we have to do it tonight,” Daryl clarified, holding his palms out in front of his chest in a palliative gesture, “or even this week. And I definitely think we should interrogate demon Shane first. If there’s no chance its his child, then there’s no reason to worry her. But if there is a chance, she needs to know.”

Castiel nodded once more in agreement, before sliding forward and closing the distance between them as he sealed their lips in a kiss, his fingers curling around the base of Daryl’s neck. “Thank you,” he murmured when he broke away, his eye’s lowered to Daryl’s lips and the scant distance between them, “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

“Well, thank god you never have to find out.” Daryl leaned in only an inch, just enough to slide his lips against Castiel’s once more, rolling his lower lip between his and relishing in the sweet hitch of Cas’ breath, hot and mingling with his own. He groaned at the feel of Castiel’s grip tightening against the nape of his neck, and without thinking he brought his own hand up to Cas’ throat, his thumb pressing just below his jaw as he always did, so natural now it was more a reflex than a conscious effort.

At Cas’ pained hiss, Daryl cursed and pulled away, dropping his hand immediately to his shoulder and squeezing in reassurance. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he stammered, his eyes falling to the angry looking bruise he’d just pressed against, anger roiling in his gut once more, “I swear magpie, if he ever lays a hand on you again—”

Daryl was cut off by Glenn, of all people, calling them to the front yard.

“Oh, what now?” Castiel moaned, letting Daryl help his to his feet as he rolled his eyes, “It never ends.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Daryl said, trying to convince himself just as much as Castiel as they wandered down the porch, hand in hand down the stairs and onto the lawn, “just something to do with the camp. We’ve got bigger fish to fry, right?”

“Right.” Cas nodded his agreement, sticking close to Daryl’s side as they gathered around the campfire with the rest of the group, everyone looking just as confused as the two of them did. “We’ll talk more tonight, and we can come up with a plan then,” he whispered in Daryl’s ear, a sly smile on his face as he hovered too close for comfort, putting on a show for Shane no doubt, who was staring at him with unblinking fascination. It wouldn’t do to have him suspicious, Daryl figured, best to make it look like they were just being flirty.

“Guys?” Glenn said nervously, holding his hat tightly in front of him, wringing it in his fists as he shuffled on the spot, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He hesitated, frowning as he looked back at the farm house to Maggie, who was standing on the porch especially cross, with her arms folded across her chest. Glenn visibly gulped when she shook her head at him, but he broke away and gazed across the fire at Dale, who only nodded to Glenn in response, pushing him on.

Glenn took a breath, his hands trembling where he held his hat, but his mind seemed made up as he spoke five words that threw the whole group into a stunned silence.

“The barn’s full of walkers.”


	24. Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are running high folks! These next few chapters are going to be action packed, so hand on to your seats!!
> 
> Thanks again for comments and kudos, I love hearing from you all and will reply as fast as I can. Next chapter will be up on Sunday <3

“So, are we going to talk about what happened to you today?” Castiel asked, looking at Daryl over the top of his book as he reclined in a folding chair by their fire. It was small fire, built in an old stone chimney that they’d set their tent near, along the outer edge of the farm. Most nights, they wouldn’t bother, wouldn’t waste the wood when there was already a one roaring at the camp on Hershel’s lawn. 

Then again, most days they didn’t find out their host was storing living corpses in his barn.

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement, but didn’t look up from his work as he whittled down a branch into a makeshift arrow, one to join the small pile he was building off to his side. “Nothing to talk about,” he muttered, pausing to study the surface of the branch, before clicking his tongue and scraping his knife along one side, smoothing out a sizeable ridge he had initially missed.

“Yes, well that’s where you and I disagree.” Sliding forward in his seat, Castiel closed his book and dropped it on the ground, settling in with his elbows on his knees and his eyes trained on Daryl’s face. Daryl, for his part, looked like he was trying his hardest not to be swayed, immersing himself in his work and gnawing on the inside of his cheek like he was trying to dig straight through it. “I happen to think that fainting out of the blue, with no medical explanation as to why and a significant gap in what you remember prior to the episode in question, really _is_ something to talk about.” Cas said dryly, tapping his fingertips against one another as he watched for the other man’s reaction.

Which there really wasn’t much of. Daryl was a master of steeling his expressions, and other than the firelight flickering across his features, there wasn’t much of a change at all. He did stop whittling for a moment, pausing to watch the flames, which to Castiel spoke volumes. He was thinking, considering how to approach something he was clearly uncomfortable talking about. Something he didn’t want to talk to Cas about.

Why? Cas wondered, frowning thoughtfully. It could only be one of two reasons: either Daryl was uncomfortable with the situation because he didn’t know what it was he experienced, or he knew exactly what happened, and he was trying to protect Cas from the truth. Either one was unacceptable.

Daryl shook his head suddenly, and with a deep, heaving sigh he set his knife down on the hearth and turned to face Cas, both hands planted firmly on his knees. “I don’t know what to say, Cas.” He spoke softly, his brows furrowed in concentration, “If I don’t really understand what happened to me, how am I supposed to explain it to you?”

“Try me,” was his response, and he folded his hands gently as he waited for Daryl’s answer. 

“I was sitting at the table, out there on the lawn, folding laundry with Andrea.” Daryl said, pointing across the field to the picnic table nestled in a small grove of trees, “Everything was normal, until it started raining. Then it was like the whole world, everything I was seeing shifted. The color pallet changed, it was raining blood and—” He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath and blowing it out slowly, “The barn was on fire. And full of walkers.”

“Wait,” Cas shifted in his seat, working through the mental connections before asking, “you knew there were walkers in the barn then, before Glenn told us?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it.” Running his hands down his face, Daryl cupped his hands over his mouth, staring into the fire before turning to look at Cas, “I saw it before I knew it was true. I’m seeing shit before it happens, and I don’t know why. All I know is that barn? It’s gonna burn. Don’t know when, but it’s going to happen, and when it does its going to be with someone we know inside of it. I could hear them talking, over the sound of the rain and fire, and their voice was so familiar, but I just couldn’t place it.”

“Have you had visions like this before?” Castiel broached carefully.

Daryl shook his head, “Only in the Djinn dream, but that was just my consciousness trying to wake me up. Never in the real world.”

Taking a minute to collect himself, Castiel stood up from his chair and walked towards Daryl, pausing in front of him before straddling his thighs and depositing himself in his lap. Daryl instinctually lifted his hands to Cas’ hips, digging his fingers through the weight of his jacket and button down shirt, the pressure behind his fingertips working against his skin, and Castiel sighed in contentment, letting his eyes flutter shut. He looped his hands around the back of Daryl’s neck, rubbing the soft patch of skin behind his ears gently with the pads of his thumbs, featherlight little circles that brushed against wispy curls of light brown hair.

Opening his eyes just a crack, Cas looked down to find Daryl relaxing in his grasp and followed the movement of his tongue as it snaked past his lips to wet them, wanting nothing more than to follow it with his own. Shaking his head sharply, Castiel pulled his hands back, slipping them down the front of Daryl’s chest, a solid reassurance even through the layers of flannel he wore overtop. “It’ll be okay, Daryl,” he whispered, tracing the line of Daryl’s collarbone with his thumb, “It’s unexpected, but with all the work we’ve been doing, there’s bound to be some new manifestation of your power. It means your growing into it, and by learning to harness it you’re opening new doors, new abilities you didn’t know you were capable of before.”

“But how can I be having visions?” Daryl asked, his cheeks tinged pink and pupils blown wide, visible even in the light of the fire and Castiel knew they weren’t going to last out there much longer. Regardless of their propensity for horribly morbid pillow talk, and having recently come out to the rest of the group, they were still unable to break away from what had long become a nightly routine, clamouring and stripping one another down to the skin once they were alone.

They were no longer rushed, no longer hurried and yet that somehow made their longing worse. They didn’t have to pretend they weren’t watching one another during the day, their communication no longer limited to “barely acquaintances” banter, and though they tried to behave, the constant flirting was becoming predictable and obvious. Couple that with Castiel’s inability to get over Daryl’s brush with death a few weeks ago, as well as the fact that this was the first time in Daryl’s life he had ever been in a real relationship, and you had the recipe for a perfect storm of complex emotion and unavoidable yearning.

It wasn’t a negative, mind you. Castiel relished in the feel of Daryl’s warmth beneath his palms, proof of his blood flowing through his veins, and his pounding heart, each rise and fall of his chest that reminded Cas he was there, alive and _his_. And he knew Daryl felt the same, if the way he would pause with his cheek pressed up against the side of Castiel’s throat, just to feel his life’s blood pumping through him, hearty and strong, was any indication. They lived in a world of death, in constant danger no matter how comfortable they may become, where one or both their lives could be snuffed out within a moment’s notice.

And sex? It was life affirming, a chance to feel the physical connection of the emotional bond that strung them together day in and day out. A big fuck you to the world at large that was dying around them, and to all of the things in the dark that tried and failed to kill them.

He would never fault either of them for needing this closeness. And very rarely would he put a stop to it anymore. But he couldn’t gloss over all that Daryl had said in hopes of discussing it later, and Castiel couldn’t ignore the underlying hint of anxiety that accompanied his lover’s confession. “It is strange,” Cas admitted, pulling back from Daryl and placing his hands over his wrists, halting him as Daryl began to slip them underneath his shirt, pawing for his bare skin, “that you would be experiencing clairvoyance. Up until now you’ve only presented a knack for mediumship.”

“Right?” Daryl implored, his wrists flexing beneath Cas’ hold as he tried to push forward, wanting to slide his palms against Castiel’s warm back and instead stuck in midmotion, held just out of reach by Cas’ firm grip, “Seeing people who ain’t there, hearing them talk sometimes and feeling emotions that ain’t mine, that shits normal. It’s been happening to me since I was young. But I have never, _ever_ had a vision before.”

“We have been doing a lot of work with you lately,” Cas mused, setting Daryl’s hand down on the tops of his thighs before running his own up Daryl’s arms distractedly, “maybe we should take a break? It’s not been an exact science, we might be exposing you to things you aren’t ready for yet, without even knowing.”

“But what if I don’t want to stop?”

Cas looked down at Daryl, brow raised in askance.

“Hear me out,” he said, pressing his thumbs gently into Castiel’s thighs, a bare hint of pressure to command his full attention, “I learned something from the vision I had today. And if Glenn hadn’t found out the way he did, because of what I saw we still know there were walkers in that barn. On top of that, I now know that it might burn down with someone we know inside, and I can try to stop it! Out of all the strange shit I can do, this is by far the _most_ helpful!”

“Daryl,” Cas said softly, placatingly, “I know it seems like a superpower right now, but we don’t know where its coming from. It could be a good thing, a true premonition and a guide, and maybe you can use it to mitigate a tragedy like the death of someone we care about.” He inhaled deeply, running his fingers along the backs of Daryl’s hands in a gesture of comfort, “But it could also be a trick. You’re wide open in the ethereal plane, baby. And like I’ve said before, what makes you powerful also leaves you vulnerable. We can’t trust the things you’re seeing until we know for sure they’re coming from a reliable source. Mediumship and empathy, that comes from inside of you, but clairvoyance? The gift of sight is just that, given. Who it comes from matters.”

“How do we know where it comes from, then?” He asked, leaning in close and resting his forehead against Castiel’s, his lips hovering mere inches from Cas’, “Where do we go from here?”

“We need to deal with Shane.” Cas whispered, pressing his lips against Daryl’s chastely, pulling back before he could go any further, “Once we have one threat under control we can move on to the next.” Daryl nodded as he pushed forwards, his lips sliding against Cas’ and his hands breaking free from Castiel’s hold, groping at his hips. Castiel choked down a moan, hands flying up to grip at Daryl’s shoulders as he was towed downwards, Daryl’s strong grip grinding his ass against his hips, the prominent line of Daryl’s denim covered erection pressing against his cheeks.

“You have to promise me something,” Cas gasped as broke away, and Daryl groaned in frustration, dropping his forehead to the center of Castiel’s chest and breathing deeply. His thighs shook with the effort it took to still his hips, but he never gave up the bruising grip on Cas’ hips, Daryl’s fingers digging into his tender flesh as he waited for Cas to continue, “If you have another vision, you need to tell me right away. No hiding it from me, okay?”

Daryl nodded, slipping his hands beneath Cas shirt to get at the overheated expanse of his stomach, but Castiel stopped him once more, holding on tight to his wrists. “Promise me?” He breathed, dipping low and pressing a sweet kiss to Daryl’s temple. 

“I promise,” Daryl said shakily, nosing along Cas collarbone and up the side of his throat, pausing on occasion to drop a kiss or to nip at his sweat slicked skin, “if I have another weirdly morbid vision, you’ll be the first to know.” By the time he reached Castiel’s jaw, nibbling along as his teeth bluntly caught at his day-old stubble, Castiel was putty in his hands, his grip on Daryl’s wrists long abandoned in favor of grasping at his broad shouldered back. So, as Daryl’s fingers pressed into his naked flesh, having snaked underneath his shirt and along his back, Castiel could only nod fervently when he asked, “Can I fuck you now?”

He surged forwards out of his chair, gripping at Cas’ lower back tightly and Cas barely had the wherewithal to wrap his thighs around Daryl’s hips, his arms winding around his shoulders in an attempt to hold himself up. Managing to make it to his feet, Daryl stood in place for a moment, adjusting his grip to no avail and Cas huffed out a startled laugh as he suddenly dropped down a few inches, taking the hint and lowering his legs so he could stand on his own. “Smooth,” he teased, sucking Daryl’s lower lip between his teeth and nibbling gently. The only answer he got was a wry grin and slap on his rear, before Daryl broke away and sauntered over to their tent.

 

* * *

 

They managed maybe an hour of sleep before they were interrupted. Wrapped comfortably around each other, the world around them was oddly quiet and comfortable, just the sound of their fire dying outside the tent and the sound of them breathing in tandem. Cas was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness when Daryl suddenly stirred, woken by almost inaudible footsteps outside.

“Whose there?” he called sternly, shaking his head when Castiel (half asleep) mouthed ‘walkers’ to him in askance. It was a person then, but who would be calling on them so late at night.

“Cas?”

“Is that Carl?” Daryl whispered to him, hastily pulling his pants on and tossing Castiel’s over to him, “What is he doing up so late?”

“Carl, honey is that you?” Castiel called outside, tugging a shirt over his head, not sure and not caring whose it was at the moment, worry coursing through his veins and chasing away the dregs of sleep and sex from his consciousness.

“Yeah,” came the small, quiet reply from right outside the tent, “can I come in?”

“No.” Cas and Daryl both called out in unison, and Daryl flushed an ungodly shade of red at the thought of letting that poor kid into their tent. It reeked of sex and sweat, not to mention the mess of things (thanks to Castiel’s inability to put things away in their proper place) and the random occult paraphernalia scattered about… it really wasn’t the place for a child, at the moment. “Just wait a minute, we’ll be out soon. Don’t move a muscle!”

“What the hell is he doing out here in the middle of the night?” Daryl hissed, slipping his boots onto his feet and tugging his jacket of without zipping it up, “He also walked over here from the farm, all by himself. This kid’s got no self-preservation instincts.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas shot him a withering stare, “He’s a kid, Daryl. Kids do stupid shit all the time, its second nature to them.”

He was dressed in seconds, and shuffling over to the door of the tent when Daryl caught him by the wrist, tugging him back for one last long, lingering kiss. Castiel’s heart melted, wanting nothing more than to lay back down and fall asleep in Daryl arms again. But with a smile, he pulled away, unzipping the tent as the both of them stepped outside.

The fire hadn’t completely died down, and what little flames remained Carl was stoking with the long, stripped branch that they kept nearby. He had settled down in one of their folding chairs, careful not to disturb the pile of makeshift arrows next to him, and was slouching forwards, the wide brim of his hat obscuring his face from the fires glow. As Daryl and Cas approached he turned and stood, dropping the branch to the ground and stuffing his hands in his pockets, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

Cas took pity on him immediately, sensing the nervousness that was rolling off of him in waves, seeing it in his tight shoulders, the way his small frame folded over on itself as he stood waiting for them to respond to his presence. He heard Daryl inhale, saw in his face that he was about to reprimand Carl for sneaking out so late, for wandering away from camp, and he wouldn’t be wrong. It was obvious Carl knew that he shouldn’t be there, but for him to have risked the walk across the farm, unarmed and in the dark? Just to find and speak with Castiel? There had to be something wrong.

Laying his hand on Daryl’s arm, Castiel looked him in the eye once he had his attention and shook his head once. He didn’t need to be scolded, Cas tried to silently impart, he needed help. And thankfully, Daryl got the message loud and clear, coughing into his fist and taking a seat in the other nearby chair, close enough that he could hear what they were going to say, but decidedly not in the conversation himself.

Satisfied with the scene as it was set, Castiel dropped down to the ground, still stiff from sleep as he crossed his legs and sat in the grass next to the fire. He reached over and added another log, thinking they would need it if they were going to be out for a while, before patting the ground in front of him, urging Carl to sit.

He still looked apprehensive, and he shuffled in place for a moment before taking Cas’ silent directive, but when he did it was like a dam had broken. His face crumpled, and suddenly he looked more worried, more frightened than any twelve-year-old boy had a right to be. Slumping to the ground, Carl took his hat off, worrying it and folding the brim between his hands before muttering, “I’m sorry I woke you up. I know I shouldn’t be here, and please don’t tell my mom, but…”

“It’s okay,” Cas said, reaching out and covering his small hand with his own, “honey, it’s fine. Just tell me what happened, I promise I won’t be upset.”

“No, but you’ll think I’m crazy,” Carl whispered, pressing his lips together tightly and staring down at Castiel’s hand on his, “You’ll say I was just seeing things, and I thought I was too. But I’ve been thinking about it, over and over, and I know that I _saw_ it, I just—”

He cut himself off with a pitiful whine, and scrubbed at his eyes as they started to well with frustrated tears. Without a thought to the contrary, Castiel reached over and gently grasped his arms, tugging the boy forward into his lap and holding him to his chest. Carl’s fingers knotted in the front of his shirt, and he buried his face into Cas’ chest and he cried quietly, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his sobs, and that was the moment Castiel knew his suspicions were right all along. He’d never known a child to cry silently, not unless there was something or someone they were well and truly afraid of. And judging by the concerned look Daryl shot him over top of Carl’s head, he was thinking the same thing.

“Carl, we won’t think you’re crazy,” Castiel broached carefully, rubbing soothing circles into his back with a flattened palm, “and if we’re being honest? Daryl and I are the best people to talk to about anything that seems bizarre, or weird.”

“We’re experts on weird.” Daryl chimed in, lighting the cigarette he had clutched between his lips and shooting Cas a good-natured wink.

Smiling at him fondly, Cas dropped his attention back to Carl, who was slowly pulling away and wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands. “I didn’t want to tell my mom, because she wouldn’t really listen.” Carl said quietly, “And my dad is so busy, I didn’t want to bother him. But it’s about Shane.”

Cas and Daryl both looked at each other the second Shane’s name fell from Carl’s lips.

“What about Shane?” Daryl asked, taking a long haul from his smoke and exhaling slowly, as he watched Carl with intent.

“He’s been different lately,” Carl explained, looking over his shoulder at Daryl as he was answering his question, “He has been for a while, but I thought it was just because of everything that’s happened. My mom and dad are different too, and everything’s changed, so I didn’t think anything of it, not really.”

“But something happened with Shane?” Cas supplied, ducking his head to look Carl in the eye, “Something happened today?”

Carl nodded, and breathed in deep, “Yeah, this afternoon.” At Castiel’s nod, he continued on, his small fists still not relinquishing their hold on the front of Cas’ shirt, “I told him that I didn’t think Sophia was dead, and that him wanting to leave was bullshit.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, prompting Castiel and Carl to both shoot him a unified glare, though Cas could barely contain the amused smirk that played at his lips. “Go on,” Cas told him, before adding a reluctant, “and watch your mouth.”

“Sorry, but it’s what I said.” Shuffling a little, Carl turned and pointed over to a distant copse of trees, near the chicken coop, “We were over there, and he told me we weren’t going anywhere. That we’re staying, but we had to do whatever it took to make this place safe, so we _could_ make this our home.” He tapered off, his gaze growing distant for a moment, “I thought he was talking about helping with chores, and he said he was but…”

Castiel started when Carl finally let go of his shirt and buried his head in his hands.

“This is what I’m… what I can’t—” he huffed once in frustration, muffled behind his palms, “I’m not sure what I saw!”

“Carl, I’m going to ask you a question, and it might sound odd, but I need you to answer honestly.” Cas said cautiously, tugging on his wrists gently and trying to pull his hands away from his face, “When you were talking to Shane, did his eyes go black? Even for just a moment.”

He didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting, but Carl looking up at him like he had grown another head wasn’t one of them.

“No,” shaking his head with an incredulous look, Carl dropped his hands and gestured to the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder on the left-hand side, “There was nothing wrong with his eyes, but right here? There was something hanging from his shoulders.”

Daryl was off of his chair in an instant, sitting down on the ground next to Cas and Carl, all of his attention focused on the boy in Cas’ lap. “What kind of something?” Daryl demanded, his cigarette burning down to the filter in his grasp, completely forgotten, “What did it look like?”

Castiel was just as alarmed as Carl by Daryl’s sudden, vehement interest in what he had seen, and he gripped Carl’s shoulders tighter in response as Carl stammered, “I-I don’t know! I only saw it for a second, and I was so scared I looked away but that only made it worse!”

“Could you only see it when you weren’t looking right at it?” Daryl asked, butting out his smoke in the dirt, more conscious of his intensity as he continued his line of questioning, “Like, you could see it out of the corner of your eye, but once you looked at it, it would be gone?”

Carl nodded, his lower lip quivering as another tear rolled down his cheek. “It was a dark blur, and I couldn’t focus on it… and to be honest? I didn’t want to.” He whispered, his voice cracking and Castiel forgotten for the time being as he leaned towards Daryl, speaking directly to him like what he was about to say was something secret, that only they could share, “It was speaking in Shane’s ear. I couldn’t hear what it was saying, but it was holding tight and whispering to him. And I could see Shane—he was _listening_ to it.”

Turning back to Cas, looking back and forth between him and Daryl, Carl cried, “I’m sorry I didn’t get a better look! But I was scared, I thought I was imagining things because when I tried to see what it was, it would disappear! And then, when I looked away, it was all I could see and I had to pretend everything was normal, and please! Please don’t tell my mom!”

Shushing him gently, Cas pulled Carl back into his arms as he cried, resting his chin on the boy’s head and letting him bury his face in Cas’ shirt once more. But this time, when he looked at Daryl, there was no concern in his eyes. There was nothing but stalwart calculation in Daryl’s eyes, in the way that he gnawed at his thumbnail. He was thinking, re-writing and knocking holes in their initial plan, because what Carl had just described? Completely nixed their demon theory.

It took a long while to calm Carl down, to reassure him the did the right thing by coming to them and letting him know that he should continue to do so in the future, and by the time they had everything settled, the sun was hovering threateningly on the horizon. It was a lucky break Carl had chosen Cas as a confidant; if he had gone to anyone else in the camp, they definitely would have informed Rick, and poor Carl would be talked over and beaten down until he stopped attesting to what he saw at all. This way too, even though they were back at the drawing board, Cas and Daryl had a new direction to work in.

Daryl had walked Carl back to the camp, and Cas had retired to their tent, but his mind raced with possibilities. He tried to relax, laying on his back in their bed, trying to chase sleep but it alluded him as his brain kept flashing the same question at him, over and over again:

What the _hell_ was going on with Shane?

He had seen it, had watched as his eyes turned black. If that wasn’t a sure-fire sign of demon possession, he didn’t know what was… but talking to himself? Arguing and listening to something only he could perceive? That wasn’t normal demon behavior at all, and it tied in with what Carl saw. If there was something clinging to him, and influencing him, it could be a vengeful spirit, or a siren… or a whole slew of supernatural beings. Castiel sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand against his temple as he felt a headache coming on. They had their work cut out for them, and it was almost morning already.

Daryl had come to the same conclusion it seemed, as when he got back to their campsite, he tore into the tent with no preamble, his palms held out at his sides and his brow furrowed as he asked, “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel sat up straight, the blankets pooling in his lap as he followed Daryl through the tent, watching as Daryl took a seat next to him, his legs crossed in front of him, “but this means Shane is definitely not possessed by a demon, so we need to go back to researching. Also, how did you know what Carl saw?”

“I didn’t know exactly,” Daryl answered, toeing his boots off one after the other, “but I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my life, and I kinda know the MO. When things slip through the Veil, I guess sometimes they don’t make it through all the way? And you can only see them if you ain’t on the look out for them.” He shrugged, “I just took a guess.”

“Well, I’m completely at a loss as to what’s going on with Shane,” Cas admitted with a sigh, fishing the journal out of his bag and laying it out on the floor of the tent, flipping through it aimlessly, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I don’t know if there will even be an answer in here. We might be out of our depth on this one.” Cas shook his head with a grin, “I never thought I’d miss the internet.”

Daryl hummed in agreement, flopping onto his side and pulling one of their blankets up passed his shoulders, his head resting on a pillow next to Cas’ thigh. “You know its five in the morning, right?” he murmured, resting his hand on Castiel’s inner thigh and squeezing gently, “We should probably save this for tomorrow.”

“There’s no way I can sleep now,” Castiel sighed, lying down on his back but bringing the journal with him, holding it in both hands over his face and flipping the pages with a frown, “I need to at least try to nail down what we’re dealing with, first.”

He heard Daryl sigh, and felt him pull his hand back, but Castiel never once looked away from the book in his hands, not until Daryl gripped his left hip and rolled him to the right, onto his stomach. Propping himself up on his elbows from his new position, Cas looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised as he watched Daryl straddle his legs and ruck up his shirt, kissing down the length of his spine. “What are you doing?” Cas asked, a smile twisting at his lips as Daryl paused to nip at his ribs.

“By all means,” Daryl said, dipping his tongue beneath the waistband of his jeans before slipping his hands underneath Castiel, pinned between his torso and the blankets, to unbutton his fly, “keep researchin’. I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Castiel laughed, lowering his forehead to the surface of the journal in disbelief as Daryl shimmied his jeans and boxers off his legs, throwing them haphazardly off to the side. “You’re insatiable, you know that?” he asked, gasping as Daryl kneaded his ass with both hands, pressing down firmly as he kissed at his lower back. Daryl nodded against Cas’ back, and though Castiel pretended to be put-out, he knew Daryl wouldn’t miss the subtle motions of his hips as he bucked against the blankets below.

“I’m aware,” Daryl massaged down his thighs as he spoke, giving Cas’ cheek a sharp smack before guiding his thighs apart, and settling between them, “and I accept that. Now, if you ain’t gonna sleep, you best get to reading.”

“And what are you going to do?” Castiel shot back, his breathing already picking up and his voice decidedly lower than it was a moment ago.

Daryl, who was in the middle of sucking a sizeable bruise just above his left cheek broke away with a smirk. “Practise,” he said succinctly, before dropping his head down between Cas’ spread thighs, “that thing you did earlier, with your tongue.”

* * *

Daryl was absolutely exhausted.

No, really. He was dead on his feet, even though all he was doing was standing around, waiting for Rick to get back so they could pin down a grid to look for Sophia. And he knew it too, as the hours ticked by last night, that it would come back to bite him in the ass that morning, but he couldn’t be bothered to care then. 

It wasn’t until he was woken up by the sounds of morning, half an hour into actually falling asleep, that he truly regretted not trying harder.

Castiel, of course, was still passed out. Daryl had crafted some half-baked excuse, using the ‘walker’ attack he went through yesterday as an reason to let him sleep in. Rick was adamant at first that he needed to wake up, that they had to have him on watch at the barn, but after a tense stand off with Daryl, he eventually backed down.

He got a few hours at least, Daryl thought to himself as he watched Castiel meander up the cow path in the early afternoon.

“You look like shit.” Daryl quipped, leaning against the porch with his arms crossed.

“I feel like shit,” Cas shot back, stumbling to the left a little as he lost his balance, and rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, the journal clutched in the other, “and you don’t look any better.”

“Yeah, probably could have used the extra hours you got this mornin’, princess.” Cas stopped in his tracks and flipped him the bird, to which Daryl could only chuckle and shake his head in his defense, before asking, “What are you doing with that? I thought we were keeping it out of sight of the civvies?”

“We are,” and Castiel tucked the book closer to his side as he spoke, “but I think I found something. Walk me to the car?”

He didn’t have to ask twice, as Daryl was already pushing away from the porch and following Cas towards the drive where the Impala had sat untouched for weeks. They hadn’t been making runs, not yet anyways, as Hershel was still convinced they were leaving, and that meant they didn’t need to start stocking up for winter. No one outside of the usual suspects knew of Lori and the baby yet, so there was no need to prepare for that either. And other than specific supply runs, there was really no reason to leave the farm at all.

So, the cars, the vans, and every other vehicle but the RV had been set up along the drive towards the road, scattered here and there, ready to go at any moment, the Impala no exception. She was, however, the only car that was visited regularly, even if it was only by Cas when he needed one obscure thing or another. And while the other vehicles on the road were covered in the layers of dust and dirt that flew across the fields and stuck to their frames, she was always pristine, as Castiel made sure that every time he came to grab something, her windshield was free of debris and body was polished to a sleek black shine by the time he left her.

It was no surprise for Daryl then, when he saw the car was impeccably clean, not a speck of dirt on her as Castiel popped the trunk, propping up the weapons cache with a sawed-off shotgun.

“You were down here yesterday, huh?” It was posed as a question, but Daryl already knew the answer.

Cas nodded, sorting through piles of various weapons and charms, “Yeah, I snuck away just after dinner. I wanted to see if we had any Palo Santos, when I thought we were dealing with a demon, but now I need to check for a bunch of other stuff.”

“What stuff?” Daryl asked, leaning forward of the lip of the trunk so he could get a better look at what Castiel was looking for, “Did you figure out what it is?”

“I have a hunch,” Cas murmured as he grabbed a silver short sword, testing the balance in one hand before slamming the trunk shut and turning to face Daryl with a look of determination, the same one that never failed to make him weak in the knees, “I think we’re dealing with a Hym.”

“Hymn?” Taking a step back from Castiel, as he waved the sharp object in front of him, Daryl grabbed the journal off the hood of the car and flipped to ‘H’, “Like the church songs?”

“H-y-m: No ‘n,’ Hym. They’re a type of wraith, and they possess people.” Castiel clarified, frowning at the sword in his hand as he adjusted his grip, before holding it out in front of him, looking down the sharpened edge with a keen eye, “They’re servants of Lucifer, but unlike demons, who are more like the grunts of Hell, Hym are specialized. They only possess those who have committed unforgiveable, biblical crimes.”

“And what constitutes a biblical crime?” Daryl asked, looking up from the journal and watching Castiel study the curvature of the blade with a fond smile. It was easy to forget sometimes that this dorky human (who could barely take care of himself on his own) used to be a warrior of God, until you put a blade in his hand. Even in his limited, human form he was talented, aeons of training channeling through his physical body from a celestial memory.

“The usual.” He said curtly, and if Cas noticed him staring, he didn’t mention it, “Murder, adultery, coveting, lying, graven images, taking the Lords name in vain…” Cas hesitated at the last one, looking at Daryl out of the corner of his eye and shrugging his shoulder, “My dad had some interesting priorities.”

“Well,” he started, watching Cas frown at the sword in his hand, quickly realizing that was going to be his pet project for the night, “Shane sure had the murder and adultery down.”

“And from Lori’s told me,” Cas dropped his sword arm, holding it down towards the ground and taking a step closer to tell Daryl quietly, “Shane’s been pretty covetous, for a long time now. Way before the walkers.”

“So, there’s no telling how long this thing’s been possessing him then?”

“No, but I’m certain that it’s a Hym at least.” Leaning back against the Impala, Cas pointed to the journal, motioning for him to look at the passage on them, “The latch onto those who’ve committed biblical crimes, but they don’t take over their bodies. Instead, they talk to them, endlessly, driving them mad with guilt and they convince them to commit even more heinous acts of violence, and aggression. They sap the strength of those they’re compelling and feed off of the negative energy they create.”

“Talking to himself, acting out, hell, he ain’t been sleeping neither.” Daryl rattled off, glancing at Castiel with an expression he was sure mirrored the one he was met with, a frank look of anxious understanding, “How do we kill it?”

Daryl wasn’t expecting Castiel to laugh, almost as much as he wasn’t expecting a shrug as his answer.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted, “The book doesn’t say, and I have never heard of one of these things before I read about them in the journal. But, it’s a kind of wraith, so it should be vulnerable to silver. We just need to get it away from Shane, and corporeal, so we can attack it.” Pulling a flask from his pocket, Cas held it up to Daryl with a raised brow and a smile, “I’m betting on a holy water bath and an impromptu exorcism. That usually does the trick.”

It was far from ideal, but it really was the best they could do. And if it was possessing someone else, someone they didn’t know, or if they had caught it sooner, they might have had the time to really think on it. To come up with a surer solution, but Shane was running out of time, and so were they. If someone like Carl, who was unattuned to the ethereal world could see the thing that was tormenting Shane, it meant it was getting closer to the material plane each passing second. And while they didn’t know what would happen should it break through, Daryl could hazard a guess that it wouldn’t mean anything good for Shane, or any of them.

“What’s that?” Cas asked suddenly, pointing across the field and shielding his eyes with one hand.

Squinting in the sun, Daryl couldn’t make it out at first. All he saw was the tree line into the forest, a dark blur at the far end of the field, but he could hear it. He heard clapping, and voices, like someone was calling an animal… and then the telltale groan of walkers.

Then his eyes adjusted, and he heard Castiel mutter a solemn “Fuck” the very second he realized what he was looking at. Rick and Hershel, with Jimmy in the lead, stringing live walkers from the woods, down the path, headed up towards the farm.

The next few moments were a flurry of movement and voices.

Shane was shouting from the direction of the house, and looking back with a start Daryl watched as he sprinted across the field towards the barn where Rick and Hershel were rapidly approaching, captive walkers in tow. The rest of the group was hot on their heels, brandishing firearms they shouldn’t have, shouting just as loudly as Shane for an explanation, or for him to stop.

Then Castiel was off like a shot, racing down the cow path and hopping the fence like an Olympic hurdler, his strides long and masterful. And though Daryl knew he had no chance of catching up to Cas, who was too fast for him even when there _wasn’t_ a dire situation unfolding on their front lawn, he still took off after him, pulling his crossbow off his shoulder and tucking the journal into the back of his jeans.

By the time Daryl reached the barn, Shane was in a full-blown fury. Pacing back and forth in front of Hershel and Rick, careless of he walkers groping for him in between, he spat and he shouted, his arms waving at his sides and his eyes purely manic. The veins in his neck stood out starkly, his face beet red and his chest heaved with each hysterical breath he took as he screamed, “Do you see this!? Do you see what they’re holding on to!?”

“I see who I’m holding on to!” Hershel bit back bravely, holding as tightly as he could to the walker in his grasp, even as it lurched forwards at Shane.

“Hey Hershel, let me ask you somethin’,” Shane pulled his pistol from his belt, and both Hershel and Rick took a hasty step backwards, “Could a living, breathing person walk away from this?”

Daryl skidded to a stop beside Castiel as Shane shot three rounds point blank into the chest of the walker Hershel was holding onto with a death grip.

Hershel’s face crumpled, his jaw tight and struck through with untold grief as the rounds burst into the walker’s chest, and his grip around the animal control pole that was looped around its neck faltered. And when the creature didn’t fall as he expected it to, when it lurched forwards towards Shane, almost out of his grasp Hershel inhaled sharply, his eyes as wide as saucers. He watched, struck dumb and motionlessness, caught in between morbid fascination and unquestionable horror as the shambling corpse he thought was just a sick person kept on her feet and kept walking after three bullets to her chest.

Looking back on it later, Daryl swore in that moment, he saw Hershel lose his faith.

And yet, either oblivious to or willfully ignoring it, Shane kept on raging. “That's three rounds in the chest. Could someone who's alive, could they just take that?!” Pointing with the barrel of his gun, he gestured sharply to the walker that Hershel was barely holding on to, “Why is it still coming?”

Two more shots echoed across the farm, and Rick screamed for Shane to stop.

“That's its heart, its lungs.” Castiel covered his mouth with his hand, stepping back into Daryl’s space and pressing up against his side as he watched Shane shoot the same walker two more times, old black blood spraying onto the dirt in front of it as they connected with its chest. Reaching down with one hand, Daryl curled his fingers around Cas’ clenched fist, stroking his knuckles gently as he tugged Cas behind him, shielding him with his body, both unable to look away as Shane howled, “Why is it still coming?!”

“Shane,” Rick bellowed, still holding his own walker at arms length in an agonizing grip, “enough!”

“Yeah, you're right, man.” Shane said, suddenly cool and collected, and as he stared at Rick he shook his head, raising the barrel of his gun without looking and pointing it squarely at the walker he had been macerating, “That is enough.”

One last shot, and the walker fell to the ground in a rotting heap of flesh, dragging a stunned and silent Hershel along with it.

“Enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!” Shane cried out at the crowd of people scattered in front of him, and Carol sobbed wetly, her face falling as she finally heard it said out loud.

“Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us!” Shane paced backwards, gesticulating wildly with his gun, sweat dripping down his brow and into his wild eyes, but he paid it no mind. He only stared at Rick, who was begging Hershel to take the snare pole from him, pleading with Shane to stop, to let him handle it. To take it all back.

“Enough.” Dangerously close to the barn now, Shane’s voice dipped all at once, and he looked to his old partner one last time, imploring, “Rick, it ain't like it was before.”

But Rick said nothing, falling into silence as he held tight to the walker that thrashed against its restraints in front of him. The noise dipped, no one spoke, and a heady tension hung in the air, punctuated by stifled sobs and the growling of walkers in the barn.

Shane waited… and shook his head in disgust.

“Now if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it!” He jumped into action once more, pointing at the crowd in front of him before walking towards the barn, and Daryl heard Castiel curse beside him, dropping his hand and pulling his colt from the waist of his jeans. Daryl followed suit, getting himself ready for a fight as Shane banged on the barn doors and screamed, “I'm talking about fighting right here, right now! Take back what’s yours, and fight for it!”

There was a cacophony of screaming, shouting and crying, the walkers pounding up against the door as Shane pounded right back, breaking the chains and unbarring the door, but everyone seemed to move in slow motion.

Maggie ran forward, clutching desperately to her despondent father’s shoulders, both slumped to the ground as she whispered useless words of comfort in his unhearing ear. Lori pushed her son behind her, pistol in hand and suddenly very quiet, staring at the barn as if she expected the whole thing to come down. Glenn, T-Dog and Andrea readied their weapons, holding their ground as they prepared for the wave of undead that threatened to pour forth from the old double doors, while Dale and Carol stood back, stunned into silence, watching the scene unfold. Rick was still pleading, with Shane, with Hershel, with anyone who was listening to stop. To give him a moment, to let him think...

Every eye was trained on the barn.

Every single person was watching that door.

Everyone but Cas and Daryl.

He knew Castiel saw it too, Daryl heard it in the way he gasped, saw it in the way his grip on his gun faltered. He didn’t have to see Cas’ face to know he was looking at Shane too, and that he could see clear as the light of day, the looming black figure that was digging its claws into Shane’s shoulders.

It was gigantic, ten feet tall and its knuckles, were they hanging by its sides, would easily drag upon the ground. Instead, they were dwarfing Shane’s shoulders, its fingers coiled around him as it leaned over, bent almost in half so it could murmur into Shane’s ear. It had no discernable face, it was barely a shadow, wispy and pitch dark, but it moved with him, speaking softly in a gritty voice that drifted across the field.

The doors of the barn opened wide, and yet Daryl was stuck to the ground. Even the walkers tumbled out at them, running towards them in a wave, being put down one by one by the group gathered in front of them, Daryl was transfixed. He could hear it, every word… and the voice was so familiar. It was speaking in a language he didn’t understand, but one word was repeating over and over, like a mantra that echoed though his skull.

_Mephistopheles._

“Mephistopheles?” Daryl murmured, testing the word out loud and trying to figure out what it meant, when the creature suddenly looked up and whirled around to face him, two milky white eyes that weren’t there before fixed on him.

“What did you do!?” Not tearing his eyes away from the barn, still shooting the walkers as they approached, Castiel shouted over the sound of groans and gunshots, his voice tight and panicked.

“I didn’t do anything,” Daryl stammered, unable to look away from the creature as it reared back, its eyes boring into his own, “I just, I said something I heard and I think…”

“It knows you can see it!” Cas hissed at him, “Stop looking at—”

When the gunshots faded, and the last walker hit the ground, the shadowy figure was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.

Castiel dropped his gun, his arm hanging limply by his side and Daryl turned to look at him, his heart pounding and even though the memory of that thing, and its horrible gaze was still fresh in his mind, he was taken aback by the grief on Cas’ face. He didn’t look over at Daryl, and he didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at the barn door and whispered a solemn, “Oh no.”

Cas reached over blindly, groping the air until he found Daryl’s arm, a small gesture of comfort as they watched Sophia, in her dirty rainbow tee shirt, stumble out of the barn, growling in the sunlight.

Tearing away from Cas, Daryl caught Carol as she tried to run to her long dead daughter, and together they slipped down to the ground.


	25. What You Used to Be Ain't Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo folks!
> 
> So sorry for the long delay, this one was a doozy!! But, for your patience and because I just couldn't help myself, its over 16K words, so hopefully that makes the wait a little more worth it ;) Your comments kept me going through this one, I must say. It was tough, and its still being slowly edited but I'm quite happy with where it ended. Its very Castiel centric, the whole thing written from his POV to give some insight into how he's been handling things mentally, especially after Sophia's death. And I will warn you... its not good.
> 
> Be forewarned, we have some very poor coping mechanisms in this chapter, discussions of addiction, relapse, and some touchy topics on depression and dissociative disorders. 
> 
> Your comments and Kudos mean the world to me, I love hearing from you, as always! And I will reply as soon as I can! I hope you enjoy this long chapter, and the next one should be up a lot sooner!

Three unmarked graves marred Hershel’s formerly pristine lawn, under a pine tree that was barely clinging to life. It loomed over Daryl and Cas as they sat up against its trunk, staring at the gently sloped mounds of dirt in front of them. They were the last ones there, the makeshift service Lori and Andrea set up long over, and even though the sun was setting and there were still bodies to clear, neither one moved a muscle. They sat, motionless and silent, even as the sound of others working carried across the farm towards them.

It was nothing short of torture for Castiel.

Death was something he never paid any mind to as an angel. He was immortal, and limitless, so he never needed to prepare for a natural expiration in the same way humans did. And having been to both Heaven and Hell, having irrefutable proof of their existence, there was no fear of the afterlife that could hold sway over him. But as a human, it was something that made him extremely uncomfortable.

He hated to think about it, and in situations where he was forced to face it head on, he would rather drown his discomfort in booze than deal with his feelings. Sure, he was faced with his own mortality daily, with every little ache and pain and urge that wrought his human bones, but he was better able to ignore it when there wasn’t a corpse in front of him, six feet under or not. And yes, there were shambling corpses of Croats damn near everywhere, but to him they were no longer people, and that removal of their humanity was the only thing that kept him sane.

This death hit him especially hard, even though he knew it was coming, and for once he couldn’t just dip out and leave. He couldn’t snap up that bottle of Wild Turkey under his driver’s seat and drink until he couldn’t feel anything but the burning of his throat and his stomach twisting into knots. He couldn’t get high because Rick had all his pills, and _someone_ tossed out the last of the good stuff. And he knew it wasn’t healthy, and he hated how plain his dependencies became whenever he was faced with death, but there was nothing he could do to the contrary.

Clearly, he was terrible at grieving and even worse at comforting someone else, if the uncomfortable silence that cleaved between him and Daryl like a knife was any indication.

They hadn’t spoken a word since Daryl had snatched Carol up in his arms, as Rick put a bullet in the head of her daughter’s corpse. He had trundled her off to the RV and stayed there till Lori came to fetch them for the service, and that had been the first-time Cas saw him since. They didn’t speak even then, and when the service had finished, and everyone had wandered off in their own separate directions, Daryl had only sat next to the tree and lit a smoke, not paying Castiel any mind even as he joined him under the low hanging branches.

He was on his sixth cigarette since then, chain-smoking like a shut-in, and the lack of conversation was grating on Cas’ every nerve. Cas wanted to talk to him, to comfort him and say all the right things, like Daryl always did for him, but he couldn’t find the words. Every time he was sure he knew what to say, he would think better of it and choke up. He would open his mouth, and the words would die in his throat, catching there and sticking tight, refusing to budge. If Daryl noticed his many aborted attempts at talking to him, he didn’t show it, and Castiel watched helplessly as he lit his seventh smoke with the embers of the sixth.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” Daryl muttered around the filter of his cigarette, his lips clenched tight as he broke the deafening silence, startling Castiel. He had to take a moment to register that Daryl had even spoken, not quite believing it even as he turned to look at him, watching his lips move around the smoke clutched in his teeth, “They could probably use some help with the bodies.”

“No.” Cas said, and he wanted to say more, but again the words just wouldn’t come out. He just sat there, his mouth moving dumbly around words he couldn’t seem to form until he snapped his jaw shut with a pained groan, snatching Daryl’s pack of smokes from its place in between them and lighting one for himself.

He was so bad at this. He could see it in Daryl’s faraway expression, the way his jaw tightened, and how he wouldn’t even look at him. Daryl’s fingers curled tightly against the grass, and his shoulders drew up to his ears as he slumped backwards against the trunk, sighing deeply and shaking his head. Cas couldn’t look away, his guilt eating him up inside as he thought of how desperately he wanted to be good at this. Daryl was always the one to pick up his pieces, and whenever Castiel was a mess he always said the right thing. He was good with words in a way Cas never was, no matter how much he read, and he was always able to bring him back from the brink with wisdom and insight no human his age should possess.

Cas was better with actions, but he was so unfamiliar with death and grief (from a normal human standpoint at least) that he didn’t know what would be appropriate. He had seen people put their hands on one another’s shoulders, knees and other extraneous body parts in a show of compassion, much like they had to him when Daryl had gone missing… but it seemed so frivolous and removed, something you would do for a friend or an acquaintance. Daryl was so much more than that. He was his friend, yes but he was also his lover, a man he adored and would stake his life for, who he couldn’t imagine living without and Cas didn’t know how one would comfort such a person in a time of death. He’d never seen it done before.

But he had to do something, he resolved. Daryl was getting more and more agitated, his breathing tapering into annoyed huffs every few moments, and he kept looking at Cas out of the corner of his eye like he was expecting something from him. So, Castiel did the one thing he could think of: he kissed him.

It wasn’t a _kiss,_ per say. He didn’t do anything so dramatic as take the cigarette from between Daryl’s lips and shove his tongue down his throat. No, he just leaned over and pressed his lips to the height of Daryl’s cheekbone, lingering there for only a moment before pulling back and leaning against the tree. He reached down with one hand, and almost as an afterthought wound his fingers around Daryl’s tightly clenched fist, using just enough pressure to hopefully convey what he couldn’t manage to say out loud. That Cas was there for him, that he loved him, and he was so, so sorry.

And it seemed to work. Without prompting and taking Cas by surprise, Daryl uncurled his fingers, flipping his hand and lacing them through Castiel’s own, squeezing tight. He pulled his smoke from his lips with his other hand and snubbed it out in the dirt beside him, even though it was only a quarter gone, and reached out to Cas, tilting his head against Daryl’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. His breath was trembling against Cas’ skin, hitching wetly in his throat, and Castiel moved on pure instinct then.

He threw his smoke across the grass and rose to his knees, turning to face Daryl as he grappled at his shoulders and pulled him into his chest. Castiel gripped him tight, pressing Daryl’s face into his worn cotton tee as he tangled his fingers in his hair with one hand and pushed against Daryl’s shoulders with the other, urging him forward. Daryl’s hands quivered as he slowly lifted them to Cas’s sides, but they knotted into his shirt once they got there, so tightly the fabric strained against them. Cas could feel his tears soaking against his chest but he never once heard him cry, only the quickened rush of his breathing as Castiel buried his nose into Daryl’s hair, peppering kisses along his temple and murmuring soothing nothings only they could hear.

When Daryl pulled away his cheeks were beet red, but his eyes were dry as he leaned up to kiss Castiel, a chaste little “thank you.” Daryl sighed and scrubbed roughly at his eyes with the heel of his palm, before softly saying, “I’m so stupid.”

Running his fingers through Daryl’s hair, Cas leaned sideways against the tree, not speaking, just watching Daryl’s face as he gained in volume. “I’ve been lookin’ for her every day since she went missing, and she’s been dead all along,” he sniffed and shook his head, “She didn’t even last a night, and she was right here, right in our backyard. You all knew it too, that she was gone, but I just— I couldn’t—”

“I couldn’t let myself believe it,” Daryl said, reaching upwards and bringing Cas’ hand down from his hair, holding it against his chest, “even though, I think I knew it too. And it weren’t me being naïve, like Shane said, it was somethin’ else.”

“I finally fit here,” he whispered, shakily and not looking at Castiel, his expression guarded and guilty, “like you fit. I was useful to these people, and they needed me. For the first time in my life, someone needed me to help them, and not the other way around, you know? Here was something I could do better than anybody else, and after months of these people looking past me, treating me like I was just some… like I couldn’t do nothin’? I fucking needed a win, man.”

“I let ‘em down, Cas. I let Carol down, and Sophia… by thinking I was capable of somethin’, and giving them hope, when obviously, there was none to begin with,” Daryl leaned back, scoffing as he gestured with an open palm towards the graves before them, “I mean, look at how we’re livin’! God forbid we ever catch a fucking break.”

Cas stammered, struggling to catch up after such a prolonged silence. “You think that just because you didn’t find her, because she died before we even knew this farm was here, that these people are going to stop needing you?” It was Cas’ turn to huff in disbelief, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, prompting him to turn and look at him, “That’s crap. Daryl, they never needed you to find her in the first place.”

“Even if she was alive, Rick and Shane were cops. They know how to locate a missing person. And besides that, we had a bunch of other people who could also scour the woods for her, and they did.” Daryl was looking at him like he had sprouted an extra head, his posture tight like he was about to bolt, so Cas knew he had to get to his point, fast. He cupped Daryl’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye as he implored him to understand, “They didn’t need you to find her… they needed you to want to try.”

“You cared what happened to that little girl, and _that’s_ what they saw.” Castiel said, gently tapping his finger against the center of Daryl’s chest, his eyes softening at the expression of panic stricken grief on his face, “You were no longer just a standoffish jackass who talked back, caused problems and kept his distance. You acted like a human being, you showed compassion and they saw that. They admired that, they still do.” Castiel ran his thumb across his cheek, “You don’t have to be useful to be needed, or wanted. How useful is Dale, or Carol, or even me? I can barely remember to take care of myself half the time, so why anyone would trust me to watch their child is beyond me. But we’re a part of this group because we care about people, and now they know you do too. You humanized yourself, and they aren’t going to stop caring about you just because Sophia’s gone.”

Daryl heaved a shaky sigh, and for a moment Cas worried he was still going to leave, his muscles tense and his jaw set firmly, but instead he just shook his head, raising his hand to cover Castiel’s against his cheek. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to Cas’ palm as he murmured, “And what about you?” At Cas confused head tilt, he elaborated, “How are you holding up?”

“Me?” Cas asked defensively, before taking his hand back and plastering on a smile, one he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt, “I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me.”

But Daryl didn’t buy it, and Castiel was beginning to get nervous, sweat beading against his skin as he thought up some excuse, something else to say to throw Daryl off his trail. He waited for him to push and poke and prod as usual, to try and convince Cas to spill what he was feeling, but Castiel couldn’t. He didn’t know how to express how he hated when the people around him died not just because the loss hurt, but because it reminded him of his own mortality, without sounding like a complete and total asshole.

Daryl surprised him, though, by relenting. Castiel could tell they weren’t done, he could see it in the hard set of Daryl’s eyes, but he seemed too worn out and exhausted to press the matter. Instead, Daryl hauled himself to his feet and pulled Cas up with him, tugging Castiel into his arms the moment they were on their feet. He didn’t say a word, just buried his face in the crook of Cas’ neck and wound his arm’s around Cas’ waist, holding fast. And Cas hoped he could feel how thankful he was as he held him back, his hands balled into fists against Daryl’s shoulders, resting his cheek against his collarbone.

Daryl had fallen asleep relatively quick that night. He was wiped, the stress of the day spent preparing for their show down with the Hym, coupled with the barn incident weighing heavily on his mind. He had tried to get Cas talking once more before giving up and going to sleep, getting nothing but a sharp glare and a “I’m fine, now drop it,” for his troubles. Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, Daryl had only sighed, kissing him one last time before rolling over, and falling asleep faster than Cas had ever seen him before.

And then Cas was alone with his thoughts, laying awake on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent and watching shadows of clouds pass through the nylon lining, trying not to wake Daryl as he snuffled softly. He couldn’t say when it started, only that he had been in the same position since the moment Daryl had fallen asleep, breathing unsteadily as he listened to the steady pounding of his heart, loud in his ears and unwanted.

He could feel it beating in his chest. He first noticed it clearly when he turned out the light, the steady _thump-thump, thump-thump_ jettisoning blood through his veins. He noticed it in a way he hadn’t for a very long time, viscerally, and all at once it sickened him.

When he began to fall, the first thing he started to notice was the beating of his heart. It was something he never paid any mind to as an angel, because it wasn’t actually _his_. It was Jimmy’s, and he could separate his true form from his vessel with ease. But once the line between vessel and his own body started to blur, his heart beat was what broke down the wall between him and the host, one pound at a time. And the night he fell for good, it was all he could feel. It shook his whole body, each beat reverberating under his ribs, and he was suddenly very aware of the blood that sluiced under his skin. He trembled as it kept him awake, reminding him of what he wasn’t, of his newfound mortality. He was encumbered by it, desperate to shut it out, shut it off, to make it stop.

Castiel sobbed silently, leaning his head back against the pillows as he scratched at the inside of his wrist, digging his nails into the thin flesh and feeling his pulse just beneath it. He hated it. He wanted to carve it out as he sliced at his skin with his blunt fingernails, back and forth, back and forth, biting his lips to stifle any noise he might make as he tried to reign in his breathing. He was panicking, and he had to calm down, lest he wake Daryl and have to go over the whole thing with him, out loud and in the open, but his heart beat pounded his death in his ears and he couldn’t drown it out on his own.

Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he exhaled shakily, trying to focus on Daryl’s jet engine snoring instead. He was sleeping with his face mushed into his pillow, one arm thrown over his head in a position Cas would normal roll him out of the instant he even tried it, but that night it was a welcome distraction. He still wasn’t very good when it came to unpleasant human emotions and apparently, grief was one of those he couldn’t quite handle, not just yet.

It wasn’t even grief that he was feeling though, Cas mused as he pulled his hands away from his eyes, cupping them over his mouth instead. It was guilt, through and through. He had already grieved Sophia in the month she had been gone. He knew she was dead, and Daryl was right to assume most their group thought so as well. In the beginning, he held out hope that they would find her, but as the weeks went on he had to face facts: they were chasing a ghost through the woods. But they were stuck there anyways until Carl recovered, so he figured there wasn’t any harm. He thought they would find her out there, a walker or a corpse, and that would be the end of it. They would have closure, and they could move on, when in the meantime they had a place to call home.

He didn’t realize how wrong he was until Sophia crawled out of that barn. The devastation on everyone’s face, least of all Carol and Daryl’s, was excruciating. And Cas realized in that moment, that it wasn’t finding her that was the driving force behind their search. It was their need to hold on to hope. They needed to think she was alive to keep going themselves, without having to change their worldview or accept that things were never going back to the way they were. By insisting they keep searching even though he knew better, and by stifling Shane at every turn when he (crass as he was) tried to tell them she was gone, Castiel had been doing more harm than good. And he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He thought he was helping Daryl, by giving him something he needed and insisting they keep up the search. Daryl had done as much when he reassured him the night she first went missing on the highway, Castiel just wanted to do the same in return.

But he wasn’t. He had been giving him false hope, and was doing more harm than good.

Castiel just didn’t understand. His experience with death as an omnipotent being was vast, but he never felt it like he did as a human. And his experience as a human was lacking entirely. Sure, he had seen many people die since he fell, least of all Sam, Bobby and Dean… but he was never taught how to go on afterwards. Dean was a terrible role model when it came to dealing with death, choosing to go somewhere dark and destructive before climbing his way back out and pretending it never happened at all.

He didn’t know where they went from there, or how they moved on. When was it okay to talk about Sophia in the past tense? Could he talk about her at all? Was he allowed to offer his condolences to Carol, or was that in poor taste? It was so different from Amy and Jim, who died so suddenly, where there was instant closure. And Sophia was just a child… did that change the rules? It certainly felt like it did. He just didn’t know what was expected of him.

Cas didn’t know what he was supposed to be thinking and feeling either. All of his thoughts were terrifyingly bleak, and so far removed from what he thought people experienced when they were grieving that he began to think (and not for the first time, either) that something was wrong with him.

He was relieved they found her, regardless of the way it came about, and that didn’t sit right with him. But the worst of it? He was grateful she had been bitten. He felt it was a blessing that, given the state of her corpse, she had died early on, because that meant she didn’t go hungry. She wasn’t frightened, and she didn’t cry herself to sleep. She didn’t have to suffer for a month on her own in the woods.

And that made him feel like a monster.

In the end though, what bothered him the most (as it always did) was how useless he felt. He would have been so much more effective as an angel, and instead he was human, with no social understanding of how to act and what to be. And to make matters worse he was a broken one, who didn’t think right and felt inappropriate things at exactly the wrong times.

He felt so limited, and it all centered down into the steady beating of his heart.  

With a frustrated groan, Castiel sat up abruptly, pulling on his boots with great care and he trying not to disturb Daryl. He didn’t have to worry about much it seemed, as he was still passed out, half on his stomach and half on his side, dead to the world when Cas slipped from their tent and into the crisp, autumn air.

He tugged his thin army jacket tighter around his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest and walking into the wind as he made his way towards the row of parked cars. Cas didn’t know what time it was, but he knew it was late, the fire long burnt out and all the lights off in their tents, so he moved as quietly as he could through the field, making it to the Impala in record time. The night was dark, no moon to be seen and the only light guiding him was the infinite smattering of stars, shadowed by shifting clouds and reflecting in the dark lacquered shine of the Impala’s trunk.

Castiel didn’t dawdle outside (it was far too cold for that), jumping into the back and pulling his bottle of whiskey out from under the driver’s seat. He could see his breath hovering in front of him on every exhale, and he tugged out his worn old blanket too, covering his lap and sitting with his back against the door as he uncorked the bottle, tipping it to his lips.

It burned delightfully on the way down, and he closed his eyes to chase the sensation, feeling it run down his throat, through his chest and into his stomach, pooling there and radiating with a comforting warmth. He didn’t stop with one sip either: he held the bottle to his lips, his eyebrows tightly knit as he chugged down three large gulps, only satisfied when the easy heat in his stomach turned to a dull aching knot, and his scorching throat brought tears to his eyes. Castiel gasped and coughed when he pulled the bottle away, shakily wiping his wet lips with his shirt sleeve before tossing the bottle cap into the front seat. He wouldn’t need that anymore; it wasn’t like there would be anything left in the bottle once Cas was through with it.

If anyone could pull off a wicked binge, it was Castiel. He had learned from the best after all, what with Dean and Bobby being two of his “welcome-to-humanity” mentors. Wild Turkey was a staple in the Singer household, and even before Castiel had fallen completely from grace, he’d been on a binge once or twice. Granted, it didn’t take an entire liquor store to get him black out drunk anymore, but he still didn’t know the meaning of taking it slow, preferring to throw caution to the wind when faced with exhibiting any self control.

He had discovered early on that he had a decidedly addictive personality. He was just the right combination of neurotic and impulsive that could (and obviously did) lead to the formation of more untoward habits. At first, he had only been fitting the bill. Doing what the two main role models in his life did, and while at first he found himself only drinking at dinner, it soon became the first thing he did when he woke up in the morning, and the last he did at night.

And then he started reading. Again, at first it had a practical application: teaching him about humanity, helping him to understand the nuances and feeling that came with the whole mortal coil package. But after a while, he found it was the only thing he wanted to do. He had poor impulse control, and while he often had more pressing matters to attend to, he didn’t feel right or content unless he could sneak away and read. It took a few months for Dean to catch on to that one, he didn’t particularly care about Cas’ reading habits, but once Castiel started scavenging for books on a regular basis he started to take notice.

Then he’d discovered sex, and drugs came last. Risa called it sensation seeking, but Cas never bought on to that. He didn’t get drunk, high, fuck or read for the pure sensation of it… he did it for the distraction. Because when he was alone with his thoughts, mindlessly doing chores, or making pointless conversation he started to “drift”, as he liked to call it. He’d start to hear and feel his breathing, how his heart beat, and suddenly his perception would shift, and his hands no longer felt like his hands. His arms, legs, lips, his whole body felt like someone else’s. Sometimes it felt like he was floating millimetres above it, just hovering out of his skin and other times, it felt like he was watching a movie, completely removed.

So much of humanity involved wasting time. Quiet, endless moments, ticking down the clock till the end of their mortal coil, and when Castiel couldn’t busy himself enough to outrun his nagging mortality, that steady thrum of life inside of him, waiting to go out… he found solace in his obsessive distractions. They pulled him back into his body, drowned out that concussive voice in his head that kept reminding him he was slowly dying, and locked him down for a little while, letting him feel like he was a part of the physical form he still couldn’t bear to think of as his own.

Castiel sank further down the door, drawing his knees up to his chest as he drank again from his bottle, his head already swimming pleasantly, but he didn’t want pleasant. Pleasant wouldn’t cut it. It wouldn’t block out the memory of Sophia, still in her rainbow tee shirt, stumbling from the barn a rotted corpse. It wouldn’t drown out the sound of Carol’s sobs, or the sight of Daryl’s clenched jaw as he chain-smoked in front of her grave. And it certainly wouldn’t stop the infernal beating of his heart, the only thing he could hear since she crumpled to the ground, a pitifully small sack of bones, sending Cas into a dissociative spiral that had him clinging to stay in his vessel.

Not his vessel, he reminded himself.

His body.

Jimmy’s body.

Cas almost choked on his next gulp, when someone rapped against the window of the Impala. He stretched out his legs, thinking it was Daryl out there and entirely unsurprised by it (he was such a light sleeper, he probably woke up the instant Cas left their tent), kicking the door with one foot before shouting through the glass, “It’s open!”

To his surprise, it wasn’t Daryl, but Rick who opened the front door, sliding wordlessly into the driver’s seat. His eyes flitted to the bottle in Cas’ hands and he frowned, but Castiel only stared back, daring him to say something. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Rick asked, closing the door and settling back against it so he was eye to eye with Castiel, the back of the seat in between them, “And probably a little dangerous being out here alone, too. All that gunfire earlier probably drew quite the crowd of walkers in the woods.”

“Nightcap,” Cas replied curtly, holding the bottle out to him, “You want in?” And when Rick shook his head, Castiel shook the bottle, the sloshing amber liquid making quite a racket in the echo box of the car, “It’s bad form to make me drink alone.”

With a sigh, Rick begrudgingly took the bottle, taking a small sip before handing it back. Cas rolled his eyes, but took it all the same. It was a pitiful attempt, but that tiny gulp had been an olive branch at least, and now he didn’t feel so ashamed to be chugging whiskey in his car, in the middle of the night, with an audience. “What are you doing here, Rick?” Cas asked, taking another gulp and noting with great pleasure the way his vision went from comfortably swimming to jet plane nose dive. That was more like it.

“I heard you walking past my tent. At first I thought you were a walker, so I poked my head out and saw you heading to the cars,” he said, and much to Cas’ delight, he reached out for the bottle once more, which Cas gave freely, “I couldn’t sleep either, figured you were out on a walk and thought you might be open to some company.” He took a large gulp, before holding the bottle up to the window and taking stock of how much whiskey was left through the glass, “Didn’t expect to find you out here, binge drinkin’ and sulkin’ in your car.”

“Yeah, well—” Cas snatched his bottle back, falling back against the door with a huff, “I didn’t expect to be forced to mow down a walking pack of corpses this afternoon, either. Shit happens.”

Rick laughed, shaking his head as he watched him carefully, his eyes following the neck of the bottle as Cas spun it in his hands, “It sure does. And you’re starting to sound more and more like Daryl, everyday.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Ca s griped, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “he’d love to think he was such an influence on me. It’d give him a swelled head.”

Smiling, Rick agreed to keep a lid on it, sitting back and getting more comfortable as he spread out in the front seat. “So what are you doing out here, anyways?” he asked, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your tent? Probably warmer.”

“I didn’t want to wake up Daryl,” Cas said, fitting the blanket firmly around his legs at the mere mention of the cold, “He’s had a pretty rough day.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but not in the same way,” he admitted, tilting his head against the seat and looking at Rick out of the corner of his eye, squinting against his wavy vision, “I knew she was gone, but Daryl had been lying to himself this whole time, just to keep up appearances. I grieved a long time ago… this is still fresh for him.”

Rick’s face fell instantly, the same pallid, wide eyed, frightened rabbit look he got every time he started to doubt himself, and Cas knew that he hadn’t just come out here for a friendly chat. “What is it, Rick?” Cas pressed, taking another sip and watching him over the bottle, “What’s on your mind?”

“She was there all the time.” Rick muttered, folding his arms over the back of the seat and resting his head in the crook of one elbow, “The whole damn time, and I had 'em chasing a ghost in a forest.”

“You did what you could,” Cas said, his throat clenching in discomfort. This wasn’t what he came out here for. A heart to heart on the one thing he was trying to forget about wouldn’t help anyone, and he could already hear, over the rush of liquor in his system, the steady thump-thump, thump-thump threatening to resurface, “You did everything you could.”

“Yeah, I know. I always do, don't I? Went after her, protected her, killed those walkers, but she still got bit.” Castiel nodded dumbly, because what else was he going to do? Lie? Rick didn’t seem to notice either way, he was still staring out the back window of the Impala, up the gentle slope of road towards the house and he whispered, “Carl still got shot.”

They sat in silence after that. It was stifling, smothering Castiel with its mundanity and he gulped back some more whiskey before Rick reached across the seat and snatched the bottle from his hands. “Hey!” he cried, watching in dismay as Rick corked it, tossing it in the passenger foot well before returning to his post, slumped over the seat. Castiel looked over the backrest, craning his neck to see if he could reach the bottle, but one look from Rick had him pinned to his seat. Rick was onto him, he realized. He’d been sitting here, drinking like a fish, and Rick had noticed… he’d have to relent for the time being.

“You told me something pretty profound, right when Sophia first went missing.” Rick said, his fingers picking at a loose thread his seats upholstery, “You told me: ‘If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.’ That ‘at the end of the day, these people are going to respect a man of integrity more than a man to whom the ends justify the means.’” He huffed, “Well, I did what felt right. Searching for her, even though I knew in my heart she was gone… not busting down those barn doors right off, trying to reason with Hershel, that all felt right to me.”

“Did it?” Cas asked, not surprised when Rick looked up at him incredulously, “Did it feel right? Or were you doing what you thought you were supposed to, again. Because anyone could see there was no way to work with Hershel on this one.” Rick pushed up, ready to interrupt when Cas motored on, “He was delusional, he thought those people were sick, and no amount of humoring him was going to help. He would have died one day, his whole family too, because he wouldn’t kill a Croat even if it were chomping on his daughter.”

“He needed to know the truth, and there’s no nice way to rip the wool off someone’s eyes. Shane knew that, and I think you did too. But you’re still trying to cling to the way things were, and that world doesn’t exist anymore.” Rick had fallen completely silent, listening with his jaw clenched as Castiel spoke quickly and harshly, “Same with Sophia. We don’t want to admit a little girl died, because in our old lives, that would constitute a national emergency. Amber Alert, Search and Rescue, FBI, the whole nine. But in this new world? Everyone dies, even children. And its ugly, and harsh, but it’s the way things are, and I think you know that too.”

With a sigh Castiel sat back, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, as his fingers felt like they would float away were he not doing something with them, “You aren’t doing what you know is right, and you aren’t listening to your gut. Because if you were, we would have cleared that barn too, though you probably would have been a little more democratic about it that Shane, and we would have stopped looking for Sophia weeks ago. You’re doing what you think you’re supposed to, trying to help these people cling to a world that doesn’t exist anymore, and you aren’t doing them any favours.” Cas let his head fall back, the dull thump of it hitting the window reverberating through the car, “And you’re not the only one. I have to start being more realistic as well.”

“What if I can’t let it go?” Rick murmured, catching Cas’ eye in the dim starlight, “I don’t think I can live in that world, Cas.”

“You can, and you are.” There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice, and seemed the reassurance was what Rick was looking for all along, as Castiel said, “You’re doing it for your wife and son. For all of us, people you don’t owe anything to, because you are the strongest, best man among us. But you have got to get out of your head.” Tapping to fingers to his temple, Cas distantly noted that he could almost see himself doing so, his sense of self drifting away. He wished he still had that bottle in his hands, bemoaning internally that he still wasn’t drunk enough, though he was clearly wasted as he slurred, “You were a cop. From what I understand, you would have been trained to listen to yourself, to trust your instincts, and you should hold on to that! Intuition, Rick… it’s a warrior’s secret weapon.”

Rick laughed despite himself, sliding into an easy grin as he reclined against the door once more. “You’re hackneyed as all get out, but you do make a fine point,” he said, leaning one elbow on the wheel, “And you’re looking like you’re about to make a grab for that whiskey the minute I leave here.”

“Perceptive,” Cas said drolly, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, “I _was_ in the middle of something when you decided to drop in.”

“Drinking yourself into a stupor, right.” Rick had his regular, schooled expression on his face once more, and Castiel bristled as he felt himself being boxed in, “I never pegged you for a drinker.”

“It was a long day, wasn’t it? And last I checked I was a thirty-year-old man, not some kid sneaking into their parent’s liquor cabinet.” Cas sneered, curling over on himself and resting his chin on his knees, “What’s it to you whether I drink or not? Do you still not trust me?”

“No Cas, I do.” Rick said, shaking his head and the piteous look on his face made the twisting in Castiel’s gut even worse, “I never used to, but I do now. You’ve long since proved yourself. I still know you’re hiding somethin’… though, I think its safe to say I’m catching a glimpse of what that something might be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just Belushied that bottle of whiskey, and when I took it away, you looked like you wanted to wring my neck.” Castiel flushed at his observation, looking down at the floor as Rick rattled off a list off everything he’d noticed Cas do during their chat, “You’ve been looking over that seat ever since, you’re shaking, sweating even though its freezing in here... I was a cop, remember? You know how many drunk and disorderly’s I worked in my day? How many alcoholics I locked in the tank?”

He knew. He’d heard stories, second hand from Lori of course, about all the different jobs Rick had worked in their old life. He’d heard all about the alcoholics and addicts Rick put behind bars, who he hindered more than he helped, and the one thing Cas took away from each of those stories was that Rick could never find out about Cas’ own... dependencies. He’d only think the worst of him. And now it seemed like his worst fear was coming to life, as Rick leaned over the seat and implored him, “I know you ain’t drinking all the time, but man you’ve clearly had a problem somewhere down the line, and I don’t want to see you slip back into old habits just because something terrible happened.”

“I won’t.” Cas said defensively, suddenly feeling very small.

“I’m sure,” and Rick said it sincerely, “but you seem to have a knack for helpin’ people out, me most of all. So, let me help you, man. If you ever need it, you know you have my ear.”

Well, Cas thought to himself, that was unexpected. He had been sitting there, anticipating a lecture but instead he was being offered help. He didn’t need it of course, this was just a one night thing, but it was surprising, and Cas felt confident enough to ask, “Can I have the bottle back?”

“Just for tonight,” Rick said, grabbing it from the foot well and handing it back to Castiel, “and don’t drink yourself to death out here.”

Turning around in his seat, Rick clicked open the door and Castiel figured that was as good a sign as any that they were done for the night. He uncorked the bottle and took a swig, sighing as his whole body vibrated with it, that familiar warmth spreading through him when Rick stopped just outside the car. “And Cas?” he said, breaking Castiel out of his reverie, “Thank you.”

Cas just nodded in response as Rick shut the door behind him and took off up the drive.

Shivering, Cas brought the blanket up to his chin, sipping lightly at his bottle as he clenched his eyes shut. They were pounding, and not from the liquor. That whole conversation had been everything he was trying to avoid, and all at once he felt like he was losing himself. He wrapped the blanket even tighter around his shoulders, and tried to be thankful that Rick didn’t take the whiskey with him, but even through the haze he still felt off. He felt like he had as an angel, hovering just above his physical form as an outside consciousness and he hated it.

It sickened him. It made him shake and want to cry.

It reminded him of all that he wasn’t anymore.

He heard the footsteps this time, and was prepared when Daryl opened the back door to the car. He slipped inside, nudging Cas’ feet out of the way with aplomb as he sat across from him on the back seat. He didn’t stare at the bottle as Rick had done, and he didn’t give Castiel shit for sneaking off in the middle of the night to drink, like Cas expected him too. No, ever surprising, he just reached out and curled his fingers around Cas’ ankle, rucking up his jeans and skimming his thumb in soothing circles against his bare skin. He didn’t look at Cas, and he didn’t try to talk… he just sat there, his hand on Cas’ leg the only connection between them, waiting in silence for Castiel to come back to him.

Castiel studied him carefully, taking in his ruffled hair and the unkempt state of his clothes. He’d obviously just woken up, his clothes thrown on haphazardly and his eyes still heavy-lidded with barely shaken sleep, and must have instinctively known where Cas would be. Just as Daryl a habit of receding into the woods when he needed to collect himself, Castiel always came back to this car. A metal frame with more metal slapped on top, two leather benches and some glass, it was a sanctuary to him when he couldn’t handle being out in the open, or when he needed to be alone. He trusted, and had an unspoken agreement with the rest of the group, that were he to sneak away and spend an hour locked in his car, he would be left alone.

Apparently, that didn’t count when it was well past midnight, but at least Daryl was always welcome company.

“That to share?” Daryl asked after a lengthy pause, looking at the bottle clenched between Cas’ fists, but Castiel hardly heard him. He felt too large, his ears roaring and blocking out anything but his pulse, the steady stream of sound emanating from his vessel.

He didn’t realize until Daryl cursed and leapt forward that the bottle had slipped from his hands, as his fingers felt like meaty, machinelike appendages and not something connected to his own form. The bottle bounced off the seat, and Castiel felt the seat vibrate with the impact, but it was dull and faraway. The only thing he felt clearly was Daryl’s hand on his bare skin, and when he removed it to keep the bottle from tipping over and spilling onto the seat, Cas cried out at the loss of contact.

It was the only thing tethering him to his vessel.

“Hey, hey Cas, c’mon,” Daryl shushed him, placing the bottle aside on the front seat before sliding in close, tugging Cas’ legs over his thighs and wrapping him up in his arms, “it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Clenching his eyes shut, Cas whimpered softly, his hands knotting in his leather jacket as he pressed his cheek to Daryl’s chest. The arms around him weighed him down, shoving him back into his skin, and he was suddenly very aware of how the world around him was spinning, how intoxicated he really was. Daryl’s body was a solid weight against his, radiating warmth into Castiel’s chilled bones, not having realized how freezing cold he was in just his thin jacket and an old, wool blanket, having been bolstered by liquor and his own sense of dislocation. He could see his breath as it puffed against Daryl’s chest, and he sighed as Daryl ran his hands up and down his back, trying to work some heat into him.

“Jesus, you’re fucking freezing,” Daryl murmured, pulling Castiel completely into his lap and settling him between his spread thighs, “what the hell are you doing out here Cas?”

“Coping,” he whispered, “and not well.”

Daryl heaved a heavy sigh, “Yeah, I figured as much.” He tightened his hold on Castiel, and as the seconds passed he could feel himself returning to his flesh, like the heat that he leeched from Daryl’s body. His vision was spinning, his limbs were heavy and he felt kind of sick, but at least he felt _something_.

Daryl didn’t press it, and he didn’t say anything more. He just held him, his hands pressed flat against Cas’ back as they worked up and down, kneading firmly through his jacket. Castiel’s head lolled against his chest, his mind still foggy, but he could no longer tell if it was because of the whiskey, or if he was still up in the clouds somewhere, clinging by the tips of his fingers to his own body. His face buried in Daryl’s neck, he brushed his lips against the soft skin of Daryl’s throat, groaning quietly as the gentle act burned him with a sudden heat, and he was tugged back into himself so quickly he swore he gave himself whiplash.

That’s it, he realized, working his lips down the familiar path of Daryl’s throat. This was what he needed, and he could feel his surety returning with each burst of heady arousal that sparked in his gut. He knew this game, he was familiar with this solution and he had done it so many times before, but never with Daryl. It had only every been at Chitaqua, when he would fuck anybody who would have him when he got into one of these states, just so he could claw himself back to reality, and it always left him shaken and disturbed.

But Daryl… he knew him, completely. He’d been with him for so long, and they’d done this a thousand times before. He trusted Daryl, he loved him. He needed him.

Castiel re-positioned himself, straddling Daryl’s thighs and only wobbling for a moment, before flattening both palms against his chest and kissing him tentatively on the lips. Sighing, Cas let his eyelids flutter closed, feeling Daryl’s lips part as kissed him back, sliding leisurely beneath Castiel’s own and his hands slipping from Cas’ shoulders to grip his waist.

It was perfect, and Cas let his knees slide further to the sides, dropping his hips down lower and pulling the fabric of his jeans taut across his legs, smiling as Daryl groaned underneath him, his hands groping at his thighs and sliding up towards his rear. That was, until Daryl shook his head and pulled back, taking a deep, shaky breath as he pushed Castiel away by his hips. “I can’t do this,” he said softly, his eyes closed as he rest his forehead against Cas’.

“Why not?” Cas asked, tilting Daryl’s head back by his chin.

“You can barely sit up by yourself, for one.” Daryl tugged at his hips in demonstration, and Cas was forced to relinquish his hold on Daryl’s chin to right himself, his hands flung out at his sides, “You smell like a distillery, you can’t keep your eyes focused and most of all, you’re upset.”

“Shouldn’t that be expected?” Cas crossed his arms over his chest and sat back on his heels, “After everything that happened today, I think I have a right to be upset.”

“I’m not saying that you don’t,” Daryl said, his thumbs circling Cas’ hips absentmindedly as he held him there, “but Cas, this ain’t like you. Not now you, anyway. And I don’t want to see you make a mistake you can't come back from, just ‘cause you can’t think of another way to deal.”

“I’m not,” he lied through his teeth, “I’m just having a drink. Last time I checked, I’m millions of years old, I think I might be entitled to drink… I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to though, that’s the point.” Daryl was adamant, gripping Cas tighter as he looked up at him, his brow knit tightly in concern, “Now you didn’t let me wallow in my own self-pity earlier today, and I’m not going to let you drink yourself into a stupor right now.” Sighing, Daryl sat back in his seat, his thighs shifting beneath Castiel’s but his hands never leaving his hips, no longer pushing him away but holding him in place. Making sure he wasn’t going to bolt, Cas realized as Daryl murmured, “You have a problem. You’re an addict, and you might not be using right now but it’s a slippery fucking slope that starts here, in this car, with one stupid binge.”

Castiel huffed, “Since when do whiskey and heroin correlate in any way?”

“Since you tend to make a habit out of everything you do.” Castiel raised his brow, biting the inside of his lip and forcing himself to keep quiet, when all he really wanted to do was tell Daryl he was wrong, even though he knew Daryl was right on the mark, “It don’t matter if its booze, drugs, books or kitschy little crap, you find a way to feed your addictive tendencies one way or the other. And that’s perfectly fine. I just want to help you stick to collecting weird salt and pepper shakers, and not an untimely death.”

Castiel could feel all his false bravado leave him in one go, as Daryl finally relinquished his hips, looking away with his thumbnail between his teeth. With a heavy sigh, Cas reached out and gripped the back of Daryl’s neck, pulling his head towards the center of chest before leaning down and kissing the top of his head. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

“Damn right, you’re not.” Was Daryl’s muffled reply, his face mushed into the front of Cas’ jacket. When he pulled back, his cheeks were tinged pink as he smiled, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from kissing him again, softly this time, with none of his earlier desperation.

Breaking away, Cas flopped into the seat beside Daryl, kicking his feet up on the back of the bench in front of him and leaning against his side. They drifted into silence once more, comfortable this time and Cas closed his eyes, focusing on the heat emanating from Daryl’s sleep warmed body as he tried to steady himself, taking big gulping breaths against the acrid storm brewing in his stomach. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, draping the blanket over both their laps, “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do, but I’m not discussing this.”

“I don’t expect you to talk,” Daryl slung his arm over the back of the seat, the tips of his fingers skirting Castiel’s shoulder, “I don’t expect you to _do_ anything. But I can’t just leave you out here by yourself, and I’m not going to let you drink until you pass out, so…”

“So, we just sit here then?” Cas asked, tilting his head back into the comforting weight of Daryl’s arm, “Not talking, just waiting for the sun to rise?”

“We can, if that’s what you want,” he said, but it clearly wasn’t high up on Daryl’s list of things he’d rather be doing, if his sour expression was any indication, “Or, we could always talk about somethin’ else… like, what are we going to do about Shane?”

That, Cas could talk about. Straightening out, Daryl had to steady him as he wobbled slightly, a sour burp bubbling in his throat but he ignored it. Instead, Cas turned to face Daryl head on and asked, “Do you recognize that name? Mephistopheles?”

“It sounds familiar,” Daryl admitted, licking his lips and staring out of the windshield as he mulled it over, “you think it’s a name too?”

“I know it is,” Cas said, and he closed his eyes as his vision went into a tailspin, sinking his equilibrium down to the floor and forcing him to focus on remaining upright again. At least I can feel it now, he mused, and muttered aloud over his lumbering tongue, “its Faust.”

“Holy shit,” Castiel opened his eyes just a crack, watching as a million new questions were borne of his revelation, as Daryl exclaimed, “It’s the demon he sold his soul to!”

“Almost,” Cas said, tilting his downturned palm side to side, “he transacted the deal for Lucifer, and served Faust himself until it was time to claim his soul.”

“Yeah, twenty-four years with Mephistopheles’ magic, and then an eternity serving Lucifer in Hell.”

“The original crossroads demon.” Castiel hummed, “With a generous twenty-four-year contract to show for it. The human soul was worth a lot more to people back in the day.”

“So you’re telling me he’s real? We’re not dealing with a Hym, then.” Rolling his eyes, Daryl fished his smokes out of his pocket, one clutched between his teeth and lit before he realized the implication of what they had just discovered. His face ran pale, and he plucked the cigarette from between his lips with a shaking hand as he asked, “Did Shane sell his soul?”

“I don’t know... I’m just as in the dark as you are. I thought it was a Hym because I didn’t think a demon could be working alongside a human but then again, I didn’t realize Mephistopheles was _real_ either.” Cas said, staring at the ember of Daryl’s smoke as it flared on his next drag, “Sometimes, literature borrows from reality, like Anne Rice’s vampires and sirens in he _Odyssey_. But more often than not, they get most of it wrong.”

“So, the play might not have all the facts?” Daryl asked, thinking, “That means he could still have his soul, right? Mephistopheles clearly isn’t working magic for him. Shane’s acting erratically but he ain’t doing anything supernatural.”

While he was glad his body felt real to him once again, trying to maintain his higher brain function with half a bottle of whiskey in his system was harder than Cas anticipated. Granted, he hadn’t been expecting to hash out their next moves that night (he thought he’d drink until he fell asleep, in which case the amount of booze in his system would have been a plus), but it was preferential to the alternative. They did need to figure out what was going on with Shane, and he would rather talk shop with Daryl than explain the dissociative spiral he was just now clawing his way out of.

And Daryl had a point. In the legend, Faust was a bored scholar, whose interest in all that was good and material abated, and who turned to sorcery and the occult out of hubris. Convinced that he’d conquered the physical world, he was set on doing the same with the paranormal, when Mephistopheles came to him and offered him that chance… his greatest wish, and all of Mephistopheles power at his command. All he had to wager was his soul.

Mephistopheles signed him up that night, and Faust’s story followed a very linear progression from there. Even though some newer versions of the legend from the 1800’s let Faust save his soul through hard work and penitence, most others told of his terrible fate in Hell. But from the moment he signed that binding contract, notarized by Mephistopheles, and sold his soul to Lucifer, Faust had command over everything that Mephistopheles could do. For twenty-four years, the demon was bound to his human ward, tasked to do his bidding.

Which might have been worthwhile, had Faust not squandered his powers on frivolous parlor tricks and practical jokes. He learned nothing of what he wanted to before his deal, and Mephistopheles spent the entirety of his contract metamorphizing animals into different animals, and making people go temporarily blind.

It was a small wonder they cut the time limit down to ten years.

But that was where Shane and Faust differ: Shane hadn’t been using magic. He could have set that barn aflame, or zapped it out of existence. He could have materialized a ventilator, instead of having to risk his life for one when Carl was shot, and he could just tell the Croats off if he need be. If he had sold his soul for Mephistopheles service, why the _hell_ wasn’t he making with the magic? 

And as these things tend to go, Castiel mused, the simplest, most straightforward answer was generally the correct one.

Shane hasn’t sold his soul… yet.

“It is possible that he’s still trying to convince Shane to make the deal with him.” Cas said, “But that wouldn’t explain why Shane’s acting the way he is. A Hym made sense: Shane clearly has issues with jealousy, greed and anger, all of which are deadly sins. Corrupting his soul by pushing him to act on his basest desires? That’s what a Hym would do. Why would a demon like Mephistopheles even bother? All he would be interested in is making the deal, and getting Shane to sign the contract.”

Daryl hauled on his cigarette as he thought it over, rolling it between his fingers and exhaling slowly, watching the large cloud of heady smoke waft up and fan across the roof of the car, before asking, “Do souls have different values?”

“What do you mean?” Cas quirked a brow, unsure as to what he was getting at. Every soul had value: a human soul was one of the greatest sources of raw energy in the universe. It was why they were at the center of the arms race between Heaven and Hell. Whoever had the souls, had the power.

“Like, the soul of a serial killer.” Daryl explained, “Some depraved fuckin’ lunatic, who killed kids and robbed little old ladies and shit. Would their soul be worth more than, let’s say, the soul of a saint?”

“No, not necessarily. The purer the soul, the greater its power. It takes a lot of self control and hard work to stay out of the pit, and the soul of a good person would reflect that strength of character.” Castiel said, shifting away from Daryl as he spoke so he could look him in the eye. He couldn’t see where Daryl was going with this, be it the alcohol ravaging his system or his own lapse in understanding, but Daryl certainly looked like he was onto something. He had that fiery look in his eyes, the one he only got when he was puzzling something out, and Cas hated to be the one to throw a wrench into his plans, but he had to let him know that, “A saint’s soul would never end up in Hell, though… it would go to Heaven. There’s a dichotomy there, why do you think the church is so corruptible? People will say, do or _pay_ anything to be absolved, if it means they can sin and get away with it.”

“Yeah, sure. I get that, but what if this… pure soul, what if it got corrupted?” Daryl suddenly turned in his seat, leaning sideways against the backrest with one leg curled underneath him and the other hanging over the side. His smoke was burnt down to the filter, but he didn’t seem to notice as he rolled it along his teeth with his tongue, looking at Castiel as he spoke, “Everyone has those awful, evil little thoughts that we don’t let see the light of day, I mean, that’s just human nature. What makes a saint is their ability to lock those away and not act on ‘em, right? But what if they were convinced to do just that?”

“So you’re saying Mephistopheles goes to people who are destined for heaven, and tricks them into sinning by acting on their darkest desires… so they’ll go to hell. And he does this, why? So the sinner will strike a deal with him, and sell their soul to the devil anyways?” Cas hummed, and shook his head, “That seems like an awful lot of work to achieve the same result.”

“But it ends with the biggest payoff.” Snatching the cigarette from between his lips, Daryl crushed it in the ashtray without even looking, not taking his eyes off Cas, “It’s win-win, right? Hell gets the soul, because even if Shane doesn’t make a deal, at the end of the day, he’s still a sinner. He’s still goin’ to the pit when he dies. But if Mephistopheles can convince him that, since he’s damned anyways, he might as well sell his soul and reap the rewards while he’s still on earth?”

“Then he gets to pocket the soul of a good man, who has fallen in every conceivable way.” It made perfect sense, Cas had to admit it, “That’s genius… and horrible.”

Sitting back against the car door, Castiel looked down at his feet, crossed on the seat between him and Daryl, their next order of business suddenly very clear. “We have to find a way to get him away from Shane,” he said with certainty, before leaning his head back against the door with a groan, “But he already knows we’re onto him. He noticed you at barn, he knows you can see him!”

“We need time to figure out a solution anyways. Ain’t nothin’ in any of the plays I read about how to kill Mephistopheles.” Daryl said, “Maybe we can work on getting him off our trail in the meantime? Look the other way for a while, make him think we’ve forgotten all about him?”

“Lure him into a false sense of security? I don’t know Daryl.” Cas shook his head, picking at a loose thread at the cuff of his jeans, “Mephistopheles is old. Very old, and apparently very clever. I don’t think we can pull a fast one on him.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to be careful. Maybe set some traps around the tent, ward it from the inside out?” Daryl offered with such clueless guile that Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s a tent,” he said, “He can just cut through, regardless of the warding.”

“Then we’ll start sleeping in here, or set up in the barn.” Daryl slipped along the seat, the same move he made when he first came into the car, and swept Castiel’s legs up by the ankles, laying them over his lap and moving in close. Cas’ heart skipped a beat when Daryl reached out and cupped his cheek, his hand somehow still warm, soothing against Cas’ chilled skin. “We’ll figure somethin’ out,” he said, “we always do. In the meantime, we’ll load up the guns with rock salt and keep on our guard.”

“Since when did you become the expert?” Cas asked, grinning as he leaned into Daryl’s palm.

“Since I woke myself up from a Djinn dream, and started having weirdo premonitions.”

It was a deadpan answer, and Cas knew it was meant to be lighthearted, but he was awash with worry the instant the word ‘premonition’ passed Daryl’s lips.

“Have you had any more of those?” Castiel asked, ducking his head when Daryl shot him a questioning look, and clarifying, “Premonitions?”

“No, and if I had I’d tell you.” He was very close, Castiel noticed all at once. He was leaning against Castiel’s body and pressing him up against the car door, his face inches away from Cas’ as he murmured, “I promised, right?”

Nodding, Cas laid his hand over Daryl’s. “I feel cold,” he said, frowning and closing his eyes as he suddenly notices the acidic roiling of his stomach, “and sick.” Daryl tried to pull back, moving his hand from underneath Castiel’s with a look of concern but Cas held fast, “No, that’s a good thing. I’m feeling things, I’m better now. Thank you.”

“What do you mean, you’re feeling things?” Daryl asked, head tilted to the side.

“You said I didn’t have to talk about it.” Cas said, leaning heavily against the door and slipping down in his seat, pouting up at Daryl as he huffed, “Besides, I think I’m finally tired.”

“Yeah, a seven-fifty of whiskey’ll do that to you.” Daryl muttered, hauling Castiel up despite his protests and kicking open the back door, “Can you walk, or are you going to make me carry you?”

“I can walk,” Cas groused, his teeth chattering as he stepped out of the car into the cold, pressing in close to Daryl as he supported him by the shoulders, “As long as you can get me back to the tent, because I couldn’t find the path with a map right now.”

He expected a witty retort, or at least a hard done by eye roll. He didn’t anticipate Daryl leaning him up against the car, taking his head in his hands and kissing him deeply. His stomach was still twisting into knots, and he couldn’t manage to stop wobbling side to side, but Daryl held him as steady as he could, their lips sliding together as Cas grasped weakly at his shirt sleeves.

And when Daryl pulled away, his forehead resting heavily against Cas’ with his fingers still knotted in Castiel’s hair, he didn’t expect the expression on his face. The heavy grief, laden with concern in the tight corners of his eyes and his downturned mouth. He didn’t anticipate Daryl to sigh, or bite his lip, before gritting out, “You can’t do this, okay?”

“You can’t check out like this, and you can’t run away.” He clarified, his thumb skirting Castiel’s cheek, “It’s not gonna work, and you’ll just end up hurtin’ yourself. You won’t mean to, but you will, and I couldn’t handle that. I can’t lose you Cas, and I don’t just mean for good. I can’t lose who you _are_ , and if you start drinking again or using? Man, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.”

Cas scoffed, “It was just one—”

“It’s never one night, not when you…” Daryl groaned, pulling back and running a hand down his face, blessedly still supporting Cas with the other, as for all of his indignant bluster he was certain he would stumble and fall if left on his own, “Not for people like you. You understand that, right?”

Cas didn’t want to. It would be so much easier if he didn’t. He wouldn’t have to face the reality of his situation, that escapism was no longer in the cards for him because he went too hard, too fast the first time around. If he never developed a problem to begin with, on nights like this when the world felt just a tiny bit wrong, and the lights in everyone’s tents but his went out, he could do whatever he wanted without cause for concern. He could still take an Ambien to knock him out, or a Dilaudid to help cope with the sleepless nights of dissociation, spent talking to shadows on the wall. If he didn’t understand where Daryl was coming from, it would be easy for Cas to center himself by drinking till he passed out cold.

But he knew, instinctually he knew that Daryl was right. Sure, he remembered the relief. Being able to forget the thrum of his slowly dying body, and escape the pulsing, pounding march of his thoughts. Tethering himself to the planet when he felt he might fly away, into the stratosphere and beyond, to implode like a star far away from the people he chose to live with, and love.

However, he also remembered the aftermath. The mornings of self loathing, shaking and barfing in his bed, too far gone to care and only covering his sick with the sheet so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. The trembling, burning heat of muscles under skin stretched too tight, chilled and aching, goosebumps prickling at his flesh even though he felt like a fire was roaring inside of him. The desperate need to get better, to stop the sick and feel normal, that was so integral to his continued existence he would do _anything_ , to _anyone_ , to get it.

He remembered forgetting what normal felt like.

“I’m sorry,” Cas muttered, his palms flat against Daryl’s chest as he tried to support himself. He was acting like a fool, a full-grown man with billions of years on the human holding him up. He could at least stand on his own, “I never meant to upset you, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“I know, and it shouldn’t be.” Daryl assured him, taking the hint and stepping back when Cas pushed at his chest, although he was hesitant to relinquish his hold on him completely. “But you don’t see yourself the way others do. The way I do. Its how you react when shit gets too hard… your gut instinct. You did it that first night in the Impala, and again when we had our first fight. You did it in the C.D.C. bunker when we were apart, downing a whole bottle of scotch like it was nothin’. Man, you went so far off the reservation that night, Lori took me aside the next day to ask if you had a drinking problem.” Daryl laughed, but there was no humor to it. It was dry and pained, and Castiel cringed at the sound of it, “You can’t handle how you feel, so you run from it the only way you know how, but you don’t just take the edge off. You go balls to the wall, and one of these days if it doesn’t kill you? It’s going to change you into someone you don’t recognize.”

“You’ve already been there.” Daryl said, motoring onwards even as Castiel dropped his hands to his sides and looked away, “You’ve seen what these choices do to you and the people around you, and I know you don’t want to go there again. I don’t want you to go there again.”

“Please,” Cas whispered, “Daryl, I promise you…” He sighed, tilting his head back and leaning on the car, “I’ll stop.”

To his credit, Daryl did seem convinced. His shoulders slackened, and all the fight left him in an instant.

“You know you can come to me, right?” He asked, so quietly that Cas almost missed it, “You don’t have to sneak away and deal with whatever you’re going through on your own.”

“I know,” Castiel said, “but you were grieving, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s never a bother!” Sharply sucking his teeth, Daryl flicked Cas’ forehead, “so get it through that thick skull for once. I _want_ to help you.”

Rubbing the center of his forehead, Castiel smiled and gave Daryl a playful shove, sending himself reeling back against the car in the process. When Daryl reached out to steady him, Cas tangled his fingers in the front of his button up, hauling him forward and forcibly pinning himself between the car and Daryl’s body as he kissed him. Daryl melted against him this time, his hands sliding down Cas’ sides to his back, holding him close and gently rocking him backwards into the side of the Impala, slipping a knee in between Castiel’s thighs.

“Uh, no way,” Cas said, breaking away with a shake of his head and grinning at Daryl’s confused expression. He recognized the intent behind Daryl’s firm touch, “None of that. I’m tired, and drunk, and you missed your window. Take me to bed?”

“Of course,” Daryl said with a fond smile, looping his arm around Castiel’s shoulder and leading him towards the path, “anything you want, princess."

* * *

 

 

It only took a moment upon waking for Cas to remember why alcohol was never his drug of choice.

The sun was too bright, the birds too loud and his mouth felt like he had been chewing on his sheets all night. His head pounded, and his eyes were damn near crusted shut, and he was fairly certain he had been drooling a steady stream onto his pillow, if the damp halo against his cheek was any indication. He felt sick, and tired, though he clearly slept in until noon.

Cas just felt like shit.

Daryl had done his best, and as usual he was an absolute godsend. He brought him water and painkillers, coffee and oatmeal, before helping him change and look presentable. He rubbed Cas’ back when he puked up a whole bottle of water outside their tent, and wiped the dried-on drool off his cheek with a bemused, affectionate smile. But even though he was being as dutiful and doting as he ever was, Castiel could see the nervousness hovering just below the surface of his close-lipped smile.

I can’t do this to him again, Cas resolved as Daryl helped him out of the tent and onto his feet. He had left last night so as not to inundate Daryl with his petty bullshit, and all he ended up doing was worrying him more. He hadn’t meant to. In all honesty, he had expected Daryl to sleep through his excursion, and Cas had planned to sneak back into their tent when he was sufficiently wasted. But he didn’t account for the possibility that Daryl might wake up and worry about him, or that he’d follow him to his car and see him drowning his feelings in alcohol like a good Winchester should. He didn’t think for a second how Daryl would take that, because he didn’t see it as a problem. He didn’t think he had a problem.

But Daryl had been right, once again. Of course it was a problem, when it became a pattern. Human habits were always destructive when they weren’t thought out, and decisions made in the heat of the moment, with no logical recourse, were often the wrong ones. Castiel knew this, and had known it even as an angel. There was something inside of him though, something unused to control and forethought, that drove him to do things he knew weren’t good for him. And he was willing to bet it was the same part of him that refused to talk about that horrible, distant feeling he got on occasion, like last night. The same part that told him no one wanted to listen to him lament about how he struggled with the intangible facets of humanity. That no one wanted to hear him bitch and moan about his petty, simple problems.

It also probably had something to do with the fact he didn’t want to admit he had any problems.

That was probably a part of it, too.

Daryl’s parents were alcoholics, he knew that. It was one of the first things he learned about him, back when they were just getting to know each other, that his parents were both ‘drunks’. And Merle, he was an addict. A ‘junkie,’ like Castiel. These were all words and titles that Daryl had taught him as they had navigated their budding relationship, ones Castiel had never heard before. And while he didn’t understand them in the same way Daryl seemed to, he could hear in Daryl’s voice the anger, hurt and loss whenever he spoke them.

To Daryl, a drunk was his dead mom. His abusive father.

A junkie was his absentee brother.

Castiel didn’t want to be either of those. He didn’t want to give Daryl another reason to spit those words like they were bitter, sordid reminders of people he used to love. Of everything and everyone he lost, or never had to begin with. He wanted to be better than them, to be someone Daryl could depend on, who he never had to worry about losing to something as inconsequential as booze, or drugs. Someone who Daryl didn’t have to collect, wasted, in the middle of the night and take to bed, or whose puke he’d have to clean in the morning.

He wanted that more than anything.

“Hey,” Daryl murmured to him as they stepped inside of Hershel’s front door, taking a quick look over at Maggie and Glenn in the living room and making sure their attention was elsewhere before kissing Cas quickly on the lips, “where’d you go?”

“I’m here,” Cas said, forcing himself to smile, even though his head still ached tremendously, “just, incredibly hungover.”

“Good,” Daryl chided him, his hand resting at the small of Castiel’s back diminishing his biting tone, “Maybe next time you’ll think before chugging enough whiskey to down a horse.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Daryl looked at him shiftily, running his tongue along the backs of his teeth. He didn’t believe him, that much was clear, and Cas could hardly say he blamed him. Taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, Cas looked over at Glenn and Maggie. They weren’t paying attention to them, still, seemingly too embroiled in their own lovers spat to pay Cas and Daryl any mind, and while Beth was in the kitchen she was busy washing dishes. Mollified, Castiel turned to Daryl and held his hand tight, staring into his eyes as he promised him, “There won’t be a next time, Daryl. I meant what I said, and I’m done.”

“I believe you,” Daryl said, gripping Cas’ hand just as tight, before correcting himself, “I believe you’ll try.”

Castiel didn’t get a chance to convince him otherwise. Beth hit the ground before he could even think up the words.

“Oh my god,” Glenn said, rushing behind Maggie to see what had happened, “Is she alright?”

Maggie was on her knees in a matter of seconds, knelt beside her sister, cupping her pallid cheeks in her hands. “Sweetie, can you hear me?” She asked, her thumbs stroking Beth’s face, her voice shaking as she stared down at her sisters wide open, unseeing eyes. Castiel hurried across the room to the kitchen and crouched down beside Beth, and Maggie turned to him, panicked, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She might be in shock,” Cas said, “we should get her to her bed, and find your dad.”

It took Daryl and Cas mere moments to get Beth into the nearest bedroom. She weighed next to nothing, and even though she was dead weight it was easy for them to sling her up between them, such a tiny little thing that looked even smaller as she lay motionless amongst pillows and stuffed toys. Her breathing was slow and unsteady, and her pulse was too… and while her eyes were open, she was completely unresponsive.

Castiel didn’t know the first thing about how to care for her, and thankfully Patricia took the reigns once she walked in. He helped her to string an IV, knowing how to do that much, at least, and having had more than enough practice himself, but he didn’t miss the look Daryl gave him as he expertly found a vein in Beth’s skinny arm. A hot lick of shame shot up his spine, even though he knew Daryl didn’t mean anything by it. It was an observation, not a judgement, but after their conversation last night, it seemed that (to Castiel, at least) the line between the two were blurring.

The room filled up fast, with Maggie crowding onto the bed with Beth, running her fingers through her little sister’s hair as Rick, Shane and Lori filtered in. “Where’s Hershel?” Rick asked, taking one look at Beth before pacing along the perimeter of the room, scanning the boxes of crap that lined the dresser and the floor, “Are these your stepmother’s things?”

“Yes,” Maggie said, “He was so sure she’d recover, and they’d just pick up where they left off.” She sighed, leaning back against the headboard, “We don’t know where he is, and we looked all over the farm. His car is gone, too.”

Shane huffed from the corner of the room, and when Cas turned to him, he had his hand stuffed in a box of Annette’s things. Noticing all eyes were on him, he smirked, pulling out a flask and holding it up for all to see. “Looks like he found an old friend,” he said, and he shook it, listening for the sound of liquid inside, “and then he drank him.”

“That was my grandfathers,” Maggie was on her feet in an instant, snatching the flask out of his hands, and Shane’s eyes darkened, “gave it to dad when he died.”

“I didn’t take Hershel for a drinker.” Rick said, casting his eyes over to Castiel as he spoke, looking him over. Cas backed up against the wall, shifting closer to Daryl and dropping his eyes. It was one night, he thought angrily, but he tamped that down quick. He didn’t get to feel indignant when he only just agreed he had a problem. That is wasn’t “just one night.” And Rick didn’t mean any offense, if the pitying smile he gave Cas shortly after was any indication. He was just expressing concern, Castiel told himself, just being a good friend.

“He’s not,” Maggie sat down on the foot of the bed with a huff, “he gave it up on the day I was born. He didn't even allow liquor in the house.”

“What's the bar in town?” Shane asked.

“Hatlin’s,” Maggie said, “he practically lived there in his drinking days.”

“Betting that's where I'll find him.” Rick walked swiftly towards the door, ignoring Shane’s angry huff and Lori’s indignant expression as he went, “Glenn, you know where to find the place?”

“Um, yeah.” Glenn said, stuttering, shifting his gaze across the room as he tried to catch up, not having been in involved in the conversation for quite the stretch, “I've seen the place. I'll take you.”

“Man, this is absolutely fucking ridiculous,” Shane spat, grabbing Rick’s arm and forcibly turning him around, “You're seriously gonna go after this guy with everything that's going on, huh?”

“He's right.” Lori chimed in, “This is not the time to head off, not today.”

“Glenn, you’re not going.”

“It’s an easy run.”

“I'm not arguing, it’s the least we can do after—”

“After we what, Rick?”

“We need Hershel.”

“Like the Pharmacy?”

“Maggie, that was different.”

Shane slammed his fist into the wall, straight through the plaster, sending chunks of it flying and hushing the discordant voices that had begun to fill the small room. “Enough,” he said calmly, his fist shifting in the wall and his arm stock straight, but he paid it no mind, “if you’re gonna do this, then its gonna be me Rick, not you. I’m going.”

“No offense Shane,” Daryl said, speaking up when no one else would, all too focused on the spot where Shane’s arm disappeared into the wall, “but I think you’re the last person he wants to see right now.” With a sigh, he kicked off the wall, looking at Rick over Shane’s shoulder, “I’ll go, and I’ll take Glenn with me. Ain’t no reason for Hershel to not want to talk to me, and it might do send a third party anyways. Someone he hasn’t had a fight with yet.”

Shane flexed his hand, and with a tug he pulled his arm free. Maggie and Lori both gasped, taking step back as his hand snapped from the plaster, superficial cuts and scrapes along his wrist and arm, and large, dripping gashes across his knuckles. “Fine,” Shane said, regarding his bloody hand coolly, “if Rick stays where he belongs, I got no objections.”

Rick ignored him completely, walking up to Daryl and placing a hand on his shoulder, voice low. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he murmured, “You don’t owe us anything.”

“I know,” Daryl said, shaking free from his hold and taking a step backwards, “My other plans fell through.”

Though he had to do some convincing, Rick managed to get Maggie on board, and for her to let Glenn guide Daryl into town. And in twice the time, he convinced Cas to let Daryl go alone too. “It’s a quick fetch run,” Rick had told him, sitting Castiel down in the living room while Daryl and Glenn packed up the car and got ready to go, “but if we send out too many people? It could go ugly, fast.”

“Then why not send me?” Castiel asked, slumping backwards into the couch, trying not to pout like a petulant child, “I’m the fastest, and while I may not be as quiet as Daryl, I have years worth of military training and expertise. I’ve successfully completed multiple rescue missions behind enemy lines, I’m the better choice!”

“Not right now, you aren’t.” Cas opened his mouth to defend himself, but Rick stopped him, raising a hand between them and looking him in the eye, “You’re sick as a dog, Cas. You’re sweating buckets, you look exhausted and you’re basically green. You would have been the obvious choice were you at one hundred percent, but you aren’t. So, you’re not.”

“I know you’re worried,” Rick continued, sitting next to Castiel on the couch, “hell, the look you’re giving me right now? It’s the same one Lori gives me each time I leave. And if I could, I would go in Daryl’s place, but she’s right.” He sighed, fanning himself with one hand as the heat of the early afternoon began to soak through the walls, “I got a son who needs guidance, and a pregnant wife who feels abandoned. I can’t leave this time… and Daryl, bein’ the good man he is? That you knew he was, all along? He’s helping me out. This is the right call, and I know it. I feel it in my gut, right?”

Castiel sat up straight, mouth open and ready to tell him he was wrong. That this was a stupid move, and Cas should be the one heading into town to collect the old drunk. But no sooner had he sat up, did Cas feel his stomach give an ugly lurch, and he had to clamp his jaw shut, swallowing the bile that crawled up his throat. And he knew Rick was right.

He was in no shape to go anywhere, physically or mentally. He was sick, and he was tired, but he was also in a daze. He didn’t feel right, and though he was stuck firmly to the earth (no risk of floating away, not just yet), his mind still felt like it was somewhere else. He was distracted, running through the events of the past day repeatedly in his head, and he knew he would only be a liability were he to go on this run. He would get himself killed, and he’d be putting Glenn and Hershel in danger. Daryl was still grieving, and he was tired too, but he wasn’t hungover, and he was in a better place than Cas was, without question.

Nodding sullenly, Cas let himself sink back into the couch without a word. Daryl could go, and he wouldn’t try to stop him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be a walking, talking pile of nerves until he got back. Seemingly sensing his anxiety, Rick patted Castiel’s knee before lifting himself off the couch. It was just a simple point of contact, a momentary touch, but it was enough to get Castiel moving, walking out onto the porch to say goodbye.

Daryl had only just finished loading the car, a lit smoke dangling from his lips as Glenn stood off to the side, talking to Maggie in hushed tones. Seeing Cas up on the porch, he shrugged his shoulders and bounded up the stairs towards him, crushing his cigarette under foot along the way. “I won’t be gone long,” he said, ducking in close to Castiel, “Its just a quick run, in and out, no problems. How hard can it be to collect an old drunk?”

Cas only hummed under his breath, looking down at his feet and digging into the frayed wood with the toe of his boot. It shouldn’t be hard, but it would be. Their lives were just like that: hard. Difficult. Nothing ever went according to plan. There was nothing to be done about it either, it was just the way things were. Daryl and Glenn would find Hershel, and then something would go wrong, there would be a big crisis, and it would follow them back to the farm (if they even made it back at all). They could never catch a break.

“Hey,” Daryl said, grasping Cas’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, and angling his head backwards, forcing Cas to look up at him, “I’ll be back, safe and sound. Now, do me a favour while I’m gone?”

“What kind of favour?” Castiel asked.

“Stay out of your head, and keep busy.” Daryl let his chin go, taking a step back and shoving his hands in his pockets, “See what you can find on Mephistopheles, try to formulate a plan. Keep an eye on Shane and make sure he doesn’t put his fist through anymore walls. Hell, help Maggie take care of Beth. Just do something to keep your mind off shit you don’t need to be worrying about right now.”

“Okay,” Cas said, forcing a smile, “I can do that, I’ll keep busy.”

With a smile and a small kiss on the lips (only when he was certain no one was looking), Daryl lumbered down the stairs and towards the car.

Castiel stood on the porch for a good, long while. He watched the Impala tear off down the driveway with Daryl behind the wheel, passed the trees and onto the road. He listened for the rumbling of her engine in the distance, the squeal of her tires, until it faded away into nothingness, drowned out by birds and the buzzing little bugs in the forest around them. He stood there until Maggie, who had watched the retreating vehicle with the same intent as him, stole past him into the house, beckoning him to follow.

He needed to keep busy, he reminded himself. He promised.

Stepping into the bedroom, Beth was in the same state she was when he left. Silent, unresponsive, laying back on her father’s bed and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. Patricia left the room once they arrived, giving Maggie a solemn pat on the shoulder, as she readjusted the pillows and checked her IV.

“We should give her something… something to calm her down.” Maggie said, the sheets rustling under her hip as she shifted on the bed, “We might have some medicine in the cabinet?”

“I’ll get it,” Castiel offered, not waiting for an explanation of what he was looking for before he went into the bathroom and turned on the lights. He knew what to look for, he had done enough snooping in Risa’s pharmaceutical cage another lifetime ago to know what Valium was.

Looking back, he couldn’t explain why he had closed the bathroom door behind him. It was instinctual, he guessed, that when one was walking into the washroom, they automatically assumed they would need privacy, even though he was only stopping by the medicine cabinet. But he could remember vividly stopping halfway into the spacious master bath, to stand there mindlessly for a moment. He hovered there, and without realizing why he was doing it, he had turned around and closed the door, quietly, so Maggie wouldn’t notice, before opening the medicine cabinet over the sink.

The mirrored door snapped open to reveal all of Hershel’s toiletries, neatly lined up on their respective shelves. His tooth brush and toothpaste, his comb and razor, his soap and face wash. All his wife’s things were positioned just as neatly on the opposite end of the cabinet, and in the very center, separating the two, were three shelves lined with bottles and bottles of pills and liquid medicine.

There had to have been twenty bottles in there, ranging from shit Castiel knew personally, to things he had never heard about. There were little orange containers, with their white snap lids, of Paxol, Klonopin, Valium Adderall and Ambien. There were bottles of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, aspirin and naproxen. Cough syrups, sedatives, anti-inflammatory’s and antacids… and more stuff that Castiel didn’t recognize. He hardly saw any of it though, as he muttered a curse under his breath, and with a shaky hand, turned the bottles on the middle shelf.

Vicodin. OxyContin. Percocet. Endodan.

Dilaudid.

His personal favorite.

Exhaling a slow, shaky breath, Cas ran his fingers along the side of the bottle, tracing the lightly raised, neatly printed little letters with his fingertips. D-I-L-A-U… he followed the lines gently, reverently, before tracing down the side of the label, picking at where the sticker was peeling off absently with his fingernail. His mind was pleasantly blank, but his heart was racing, sweat beading against his skin and his mouth was suddenly far too dry, his tongue heavy behind his teeth. He swallowed around nothing as he scanned the expiration date, seeing they were still good, and would be for another three years.

Not that they’ll last that long, Cas mused.

With a gasp and a start, Castiel pulled his hand back, cradling it to his chest as if he’d been shocked.

Where the hell had _that_ come from?

He hadn’t considered using again in so long. Not since he left Chitaqua, since he quit the first time. He’d decided that going through that hell once was more than enough, and he never wanted to feel that horrible again.

But really, he had to admit, he felt horrible now. He’d felt horrible last night, and the nights before that when Daryl was hurt, or missing. When they were looking for a lost Sophia, or homeless on the road. If he were being honest, he couldn’t recall a single day in the past four months he had spent with these people that he’d felt okay. There were moments, interspersed bits of happiness here and there, but there was never any peace. No time to relax and enjoy one another. Even with Daryl, every tender moment they spend together is undercut with the knowledge that it might be their last.

He had felt like shit when he was going through withdrawal, and he could remember the pain of it. The trembling ache and the hot-cold fever. The depression, guilt and anger. The sick. He remembered how much he suffered, but it was so distant. A memory, something he looked back on without any sort of physical connection… a place in his life, so much like heaven, that he could no longer recall the feel of, the scent or the taste. He had pictures in his head, and that was all.

It couldn’t have been worse than this, Cas thought, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub and staring up at the open cabinet, its little shelves lined with pretty, colored bottles and their matching white caps. Uniform and organized.

His hands were shaking in his lap, sweat rolling down the side of his brow, along his jawline to the tip of his chin. His knees shook, jittering up and down convulsively as he read the bottles: Vicodin, Dilaudid, Percocet, Dilaudid, Vicodin, OxyCotin, Dilaudid… repeatedly, licking his lips with his dry tongue, flesh scraping against the chapped skin of his lips before he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

Why was he torturing himself? He knew what it took to feel better. It was sitting right there, in that cabinet, staring him in the face. He recognized that quitting was one of the nastiest, hardest experiences of his short human life, but he also remembered how one little pill made him forget the grind of existing, day by day, and the slow, monotonous chug of death as it spun down the tracks towards him. One little tablet, ground up and shot up his nose, and he would stop feeling like this. He would stop escaping, leaving his mind and his body, unable to focus on anyone or anything around him. And just one pill wouldn’t make or break him, right? Just because he was going to take one pill, that didn’t mean he’d be an addict again, not immediately. He just had to be careful not to make it a habit. It would just be a one-time thing.

“Cas?” Maggie thumped on the door, and Castiel shot to his feet, standing stunned in the middle of the room once more, his heart pounding. “Are you alright?” She asked through the door, “Do you need some help finding it? It’s a little blue bottle, top shelf.”

“Sorry, I was just… I couldn’t find it, thank you!” Cas called back, hurrying back over to the cabinet and grabbing the bottle Lorazepam, “I’ll be out in a second.”

Cas shut the cabinet a little harder than intended, the bottle of Lorazepam clutched in his fist and he cursed at himself under his breath. “Fucking stupid,” he grumbled, placing the bottle on the counter and turning the tap on cold, “So stupid, what the hell am I thinking?”

He splashed himself with cold water, wiping his hands down his face and staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was weak, so pitifully weak, and selfish! He’d promised Daryl he wouldn’t use again, and that he’d stop running from how he was feeling. He promised _himself_ he wouldn’t, for Daryl’s sake if not his own, and yet he had been so close too—

Sighing, he turned off the tap and wiped at this face with his shirt sleeves, looking down at the bottle on the counter. Enough, that was enough. He could beat himself up about it later, but at that moment, there was a young girl who needed his help. Daryl was right, he just needed a distraction. Something to keep him occupied.

With the Lorazepam in hand, he walked to the door, his hand clasped around the knob and ready to walk out into the bedroom… before he turned on his heel, whipped open the cabinet and pocketed the bottle of Dilaudid.

Who knows, he might need it later?


	26. Wells Street and Luther Bailey Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my writers block is apparently loooooong gone haha! This took next to nothing to write, and I am on fire, so expect another update next week ;) Thanks y'all for stickin' with this fic for so long... and remember when I said there would only be a few more chapters till the end? Scratch that, I went back to the storyboard and its gonna be a few more! Plus, there is a prequel in the works, about Cas' time in Chitaqua, so stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it!

Glenn sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, drumming his fingers against the arm rest and huffing periodically, looking out the window and over his shoulder like he was certain someone was tailing them. He had been at it since they left the farm, and he was driving Daryl up the wall. 

Daryl was trying to focus on the road, and avoiding the wayward walkers, wrecked cars and other roadblocks that could potentially be the death of them, but the burdened sighs and rhythmic drumming made it almost impossible. After skirting another wreck with only inches to spare, he cursed under his breath as he heard Glenn slump down in his seat, flattening his hand and drumming on the armrest with his whole hand now, hammering out a discordant beat. If he crashed Castiel’s car, there would be hell to pay, and Daryl knew no amount of blaming it on Glenn would save him from Cas’ wrath.

He didn’t know what was bothering Glenn, but he could hazard a guess. Before they set out, he had been embroiled in a rather heated discussion with Maggie, who was none too pleased he was going out on another run. And Daryl could sympathize. Every time Castiel left the farm without him, he was a nervous wreck until he came home. He hated leaving Cas as well, because he knew that Castiel would get just as anxious with him gone. They lived in a dangerous world, one where going to a store to look for food and medical supplies was roaming into enemy territory, and you could lose your life with one simple mistake. You had to stay sharp, be aware… and if you didn’t come home? There were no cops to send out after you, no missing persons reports. You couldn’t even search yourself, they knew now that didn’t work. If you didn’t come home, you were dead. Plain and simple.

So, it was a small wonder Maggie was pissed, but Glenn didn’t have to be such a whiny brat about it.

The asphalt sung beneath the wheels of the car, humming along with the rumble of the engine, and while Daryl usually found it soothing, feeling at peace on the open road, Glenn was ruining it with his petulant temper tantrum. It didn’t help that Daryl could feel his anxiety, guilt and frustration rolling from him in waves. He was going to have to talk to him, he realized. There was no way the kid would be any help if he just kept on stewing the way he was.

Sucking his teeth, Daryl reached over and shoved Glenn in the shoulder, getting his attention. “The hell’s the matter with you, huh?” He demanded, eyes on the road, “What’s your problem?”

Glenn gaped at him for a moment, stuttering before turning back to the road and saying, in the most hard done by voice he could manage, “Maggie said she loves me.”

Daryl shot him a curious look, shrugging his shoulders and waiting for an explanation as to why that was a bad thing.

“She doesn't mean it. I mean she can't. I mean... well...” Glenn trailed off, huffing in frustration, “She's upset, or maybe confused. She's probably feeling, like—”

Daryl revved the engine as he swerved around a pack of Croats. They were fast approaching the edge of town; he had to lose any tailgaters before they reached their destination. Also, if he was going to sit around and listen to this kid talk about his feelings, he needed something to focus on, and driving was as good as any. And where in the hell did Glenn get it in his head he’d be a good one to talk to in the first place? Daryl might be gay, but he weren’t no clucking hen. That was more Cas’ shtick. He wondered idly if Cas had said something to Lori about one of their talks, and that it happened to get around camp… it was a small group. They tended to gossip.

Something to ask Cas about when he got back, at least.

Glenn cleared his throat, and suddenly Daryl realized he was waiting for a response. “I think she's smart enough to know what she's feeling.” He said, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel and glancing at Glenn out of the corner of his eye.

Glenn shook his head. “No. No. No, you know what? She wants to be in love, so she's—” he cut himself off, seemingly trying to find the words, “so she has something to hold on to.”

“Man, that’s some grade A bullshit right there!” Daryl sped up and cut around a car in the middle of the road, dipping onto the shoulder and startling Glenn almost as much as his outburst, “You don’t love somebody ‘cause you need something to ‘hold on to.’ You don’t _want_ to be in love at all!”

“It’s hard work, and its frustrating, and confusing. Shit that ain’t never bothered you before starts to seem like the biggest fucking problem in the world, and other stuff that used to be a deal breaker, you just start makin’ allowances for.” Daryl said, eyes flicking from the road to Glenn, and back again, “And—and suddenly, you’re basically shackled to one person all times of the day, whether you’re together or not, cause if they’re around you can’t stop lookin’ at them, and if they ain’t you can’t stop thinkin’ about ‘em.”

“You’re worried, damn near constantly, whenever they go ‘cause you ain’t sure if they’re gonna come back in one piece, or at all.” He bit the inside of his lip as he slowed in his ranting, “And you don’t know how the hell you’re gonna get by if they don’t, because you ain’t even sure you know how to live without them anymore. Nobody in their right mind would choose that, man. It just _happens_.”

“Exactly,” Glenn said, turning in his seat to face him, “Nothing good can come from this, and she’s only going to end up getting hurt. We barely know each other. What... what does she really know about me? Nothing. We're practically strangers!”

“That ain’t what I’m gettin’ at,” Daryl sighed, pulling the over onto the shoulder and killing the engine. He couldn’t do this and keep driving… again, if he wrecked Cas’ car, he’d have bigger things to worry about than an awkward ride into town with Glenn, talking about their _feelings_ , “It ain’t a bad thing, neither. Its got its ups and downs, like—” he groaned, running a hand down his face as he felt his cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment, “Like, when they do something stupid, something they always do, like forgetting where they left their keys, even though they always put them in the same place. Or accidentally hitting you when they really get into a conversation, because they talk with their hands. And it reminds you why you fell in love with them in the first place.”

“Or how, when life gets fucking hectic, when all the horrible crap we got to put up with comes to a head and you feel like you’re going crazy, nothing between the two of you changes. You always have that place to go back to, with them, where none of the pressures of walkers, or survival, matters.” Turning in his seat, Daryl cracked the window down and lit a smoke, leaning back against the door, “And there’s something to be said for being completely… open with somebody, and knowing they ain’t gonna use it against you, or hurt you with it, or nothin’.”

“There ain’t much good left in this world, Glenn.” Daryl said, “So, this thing with Maggie? This good thing that’s happening to you, that some people back home would give their right arm to have happen to them? You nut up, and you deal with it like a fucking man.”

“I didn't say it back.” Glenn muttered, shifting in his seat, “I've never had a woman say she loves me before except my mom, of course, and my sisters. But I... I didn't know what to do with it. I just stood there like a jerk.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man.” Daryl said, “Enjoy it, like I said, it’s a good thing. And when we get back, return the favor. It's not like she's going anywhere.”

Glenn nodded in agreement. Satisfied, Daryl turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life and just in time too… there were three Croats ambling up the road behind them. With a squeal of tires, the Impala took off like a shot, barreling down the road past the old, rusted “Welcome to Senoia” sign.

“It’s kind of funny,” Glenn said, breaking their silence as Daryl slowed to a crawl, turning up Wells Street and into the town proper, “getting relationship advice from Daryl Dixon, of all people.”

“Trust me, I’d be more than happy to pretend this conversation ain’t never happened.” Daryl muttered.

“No, it’s not a bad thing, just unexpected,” Glenn hastened to clarify, hands held up in defense, “Who would have thought that you and Cas would be the relationship experts of the group?”

“What the hell you on about?” Daryl asked incredulously, tossing his cigarette out the window.

“Its true, you two have the healthiest relationship out of everyone at the farm,” Glenn said, “You have to see it… I mean, Lori and Rick, their marriage is falling apart. Lori and Shane? I don’t even want to know what’s going on there. Carol’s a widow, but her marriage was just frightening, Hershel and Dale are widowers… but you two? You’re happy, you make each other happy, you clearly love each other—”

“Okay, could you just—” Daryl cut him off, holding a hand in the air as he shushed him, “Stop talkin’, right now. I’m done playin’ relationship councillor, and I swear to Christ I will kick your teeth in if you ever mention this again.”

“Alright, shutting up.” Glenn said, flattening up against his seat, and Daryl thanked his lucky stars as they pulled up beside Hatlin’s pub.

That was, until he realized he had no idea how to play this. 

“This was a bad idea,” he muttered under his breath, climbing out of the car and waiting for Glenn to follow. He barely shared two words with Hershel, how in the world was he supposed to convince him to come home? He should have let Rick go after all, but he had to stop Shane from snapping completely, and had acted on pure adrenaline back at the farm. He was certain he could bring Hershel home in that moment, but now he wasn’t so sure. Least if he doesn’t come quietly, I can probably just knock him out, he mused as he opened the double doors of the pub a little harder than intended, sending them flying into the walls.

And there he was. Sitting hunched over at the bar with a half empty bottle of scotch in his hands, in his starched, white button up and suspenders, looking like he should be going to church, not drinking in the middle of the afternoon in some abandoned pub, in a corpse addled town. Daryl called out to Hershel, and watched, his gun in hand and pointed to his feet as Hershel’s shoulders tensed and bowed inwards.

“Whose there?” Hershel called back, “Did Rick send you?”

“Daryl and Glenn,” Daryl said, taking a cautious step forward and hastily scanning the room, “and yeah, he sent us to bring you home.”

Motioning for Glenn to block the door, Daryl tucked his gun back into his belt, walking over to the bar and pulling up a seat next to Hershel. “You know, you ain’t the only one using this whole fiasco as an excuse to get pissed,” Daryl said, pointing to the bottle next to Hershel’s elbow, “Just last night I had to do the same thing I’m doing now, but with Cas. How many have you had?”

“Not enough,” Hershel said.

“Well, we can take a few bottles on the road,” Daryl reached over the bar, grabbing the vodka bottle from the well as a show of good faith, and shoving it in his bag, “but we gotta get you home. Beth collapsed, she’s in shock. She needs you.”

“She needs her mother,” Hershel uncorked his bottle of scotch, dumping a generous helping into his glass before taking a swig, “or rather, she needs to grieve. And I robbed her of that.”

God, he was not up for this. Not today—why the hell did everyone want to talk to him?! Daryl rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his elbows, settling in for a conversation he did not want to have. He wanted to get this old man home to his daughters, and to do so before nightfall. The longer they stayed out, the greater the chance something would go wrong.

Daryl grit his teeth, and said, “You thought they were just sick, and that there’d be a cure. A lot of us did, myself included but it didn’t work out that way. Count yourself lucky, man, that you finally realized what they were, before something terrible happened to your family.”

“Yes, lucky.” Hershel said with a humorless laugh, “Lucky that I kept my wife strung up in a barn, feeding her rotting corpse. Lucky I kept about a dozen of those… _things_ next to where my family… where all of _you_ , sleep at night. I’m lucky my daughters had to watch their dead mother be gunned down like an animal.” He turned to Daryl with a sardonic smile, his eyes hazy from the drink, “Has anyone ever told you, that you’re terrible at this?”

“No, but that’s probably because I never had to try before,” Daryl said, standing up and walking over to Glenn. Hershel was right, he did suck at this. He could give a mean pep talk, but if you asked him to comfort someone, he usually crashed and burned. Aside from Castiel, he didn’t think he’d ever even attempted to comfort someone in his life.

And he didn’t _want_ to comfort Hershel in the first place. Daryl didn’t think he deserved it. He was being selfish, not thinking about his daughters at all, one of them unconscious and the other desperate for him to come home and help her deal with the mess they made. Those girls didn’t deserve to suffer any more than they already had, just because their father wanted to throw himself a pity party.

But Daryl knew he couldn’t leave without him. He promised Rick he’d bring Hershel back, and Rick needed him for the baby. He couldn’t leave Beth without help, and Maggie needed her father, now more than ever. He wanted to remain useful, to prove to everyone that he could still help, even though they didn’t need him to search through the woods anymore. This was his chance to do just that.

“What do we do?” Glenn asked in a harsh whisper, “Wait for him to pass out?”

“Just go,” Hershel said, slumping over the bar, forehead hovering just above the sticky, warped wood.

“I promised Rick and Maggie I’d get you home safe,” Daryl grumbled, “so I’m not leaving without you. Ain’t no way I’m letting an old drunk make a liar out of me.”

“Oh, you promised?” Hershel spun on his stool, wavering slightly, “Like you promised you’d find that little girl?”

Daryl’s pulse skyrocketed, and his heart started hammering in his chest, rage bubbling just below the surface. He held himself back, physically anchoring himself with one hand to the nearest chair he could find, knowing if he got within two feet of the old man, he would knock his head in. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, his daddy’s inherent temper thrumming through his veins, begging to be let go, but he refused to be that kind of man. He knew that if push came to shove, and the only way to get Hershel home was to knock him out cold and throw him in the back seat of the Impala, he would do it, but only as a last resort.

You can do this, he told himself, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath. Hershel was a smart man, well read and religious. Daryl could find some way to get through to him, and bridge the gap. Right now, Hershel saw him as the rest of the world did, some foul mouthed, bad tempered redneck. Daryl had a shot still to connect with him, and prove him wrong. He had the words of generations of poets and writers floating around in his head. He convinced Castiel just last night to stop his binge drinking. He could convince Hershel to do the same.

“What’s the plan here, man?” Daryl asked, letting go of the chair and walking towards Hershel, “Finish that bottle? Drink yourself to death and leave your girls to fend for themselves?”

“I am so sick of you people telling me how to care for my family, how to run my farm!” Hershel shouted, standing up with the bottle in hand, “I did the Christian thing, I gave you shelter… and my repayment? You destroyed everything! You people are like a plague!”

“The world was destroyed long before we ever set foot on your farm!” Daryl gave as good as he got, standing chest to chest with the old man, “You just didn’t want to see it! We did you a fucking favor!”

Hershel’s jaw snapped shut, his eyebrows knitted together as he stepped backwards. He looked down towards the floor, at his shuffling feet and sniffed once, before stumbling back to his old, familiar stool at the bar without another word.

Not to be dissuaded, Daryl stalked over to him, gripping Hershel’s wrist tight and pulling his hand away from the bottle. For a moment, he felt the old man give a little, before he wrenched his arm from Daryl’s hold and wheeled to face him, his elbows knocking off the surface of the bar. “I didn’t want to believe you!” Hershel yelled, spittle flying from his lips and smattering the bar between them, “Rick told me there was no cure, that these people were dead, not sick. You’re right, I chose not to believe! But when Shane shot Lou in the chest… and she just kept coming?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if what he was about to say were some terrible secret, “That’s when I knew. There’s no hope. What’s the point?”

“Listen to you,” Daryl said, sitting in the stool next to Hershel’s, “are you hearing yourself? What the hell kind of difference is there between the world we living in now, and the one that used to be?” He scoffed, “People are still dying, same as they ever were. People are still struggling, same as always. Forget about the walkers for a moment, take them out of the equation, and replace them with heart attacks. Cancer. Murder, car crashes, choking, its all the fucking same! People die now, just like they used to. Only the how has changed.”

“That don’t mean there isn’t a reason to go on,” Daryl said shuffling in his seat, digging the bottle of vodka out of his bag and uncorking it, taking a large gulp and grimacing at the burn, “else you’d have thrown in the towel long ago, from the looks of it. And what about your girls?” He asked, slamming the bottle down onto the table and ducking, so Hershel would have to look him in the eye, “If its so hopeless, they should just give up too, right? Kill themselves, drink themselves to death, same as you?”

Hershel’s eyes narrowed, a fire burning in them that wasn’t there just a moment ago.

“No, you wouldn’t want that,” Daryl ventured, “because this isn’t really about death, or the walkers, or how futile it all is. This is about you being afraid. This is about you not being able to change the way you think and expand your worldview. And I get it, these… monsters, they’re hard to rationalize, and maybe they aren’t meant to be at all. But closing your eyes and pretending they ain’t there doesn’t make them go away.”

“Your girls need you.” Daryl said, moving closer as Hershel dropped his gaze down to the bar, “You ain’t weak because you’re struggling with this. Your whole existence, your reality, has been turned on its head. And I understand…” With a deep breath, Daryl leaned against the bar, his posture mimicking Hershel’s, “Its like Faulkner said: ‘There is that might-have-been which is the single rock we cling to above the maelstrom of unbearable reality.’ You can’t handle how the world as we know it has been ripped from underneath us, so instead of facing it and adapting, you clung to what you knew… how things could have gone, instead of how they are.”

“That’s not weakness, that’s survival. But now? You can’t ignore it anymore, and that means your girls can’t either. And they’re frightened, they’re hurt, and they need their father. And whether you’re prepared to accept the way things are now or not? You need to pretend. You have to be strong for them, even when you feel seconds away from losing your god damned mind.”

The bar was silent as Daryl wrapped up his speech, save for the sound of the wind against the windows and a walker rambling down the street. Glenn stood silent, captivated as Hershel considered the last of the scotch in his glass. Daryl didn’t dare move, watching Hershel’s fingers convulsively tighten around his glass, holding his breath until the old man lifted the cup to his lips, pitched it back and stood up from his stool.

Glenn and Daryl released a collective sigh of relief as Hershel wavered unsteadily on his feet, patting Daryl on the arm before turning his back to the bar and the rest of his liquor, the glass forgotten on the old wooden counter. “Let’s go home,” Hershel mumbled, and Daryl reached out his hand to help him walk, lest the old man fall and break a hip.

He couldn’t believe that had worked.

With a smile on his face that he couldn’t hold back if he wanted to, Daryl risked a glance at Glenn, who was beaming from ear to ear and shooting him a thumbs up. Daryl nodded back at him and ducked his head down, a furious blush rising to his cheeks. He was embarrassed, unused to praise, but he knew in his heart he had done a good job. He was going to be able to bring Hershel back home, and count it as a win for their group, who had suffered too much bad in the past few months. They needed this, and he was proud to be the one to bring it home for them.

“Son of a bitch.”

His victory, however, was to be short lived.

There were two men standing in the door of the bar, having pushed the table they used to block it out of the way. One of them was a large man, wearing a white tee shirt and a stupid hat, the kind one of Merle’s buddies used to wear when he was dealing, ‘cause he thought it made him look more ‘professional, like them fancy New York slingers.’ The other was roughly the same height and build as Daryl, with short brown hair and a tee shirt with the sleeves cut off. They were dirty, and road weary, but they looked well fed, and they were staring at the three of them like they hadn’t seen a new person in weeks. Though Daryl had to assume they were looking at these two newcomers the same way.

The first thing Daryl noticed was that they were armed. The smaller one had a pistol, the big guy a shotgun pressed against shoulder. He reflexively reached for his weapon, and Glenn did the same.

“Hey now!” The smaller man said, tucking his gun into the waist of his pants and putting his hands in the air, “We’re not here to cause trouble! We just heard voices in here, and thought we’d check it out. Haven’t met a new person, or a live person for that matter, in a long time.”

He nudged his partner, who slung his rifle over his shoulder and held his hands up as well.

Nodding to Glenn, Daryl slowly tucked his pistol away.

“See? Now we’re making friends,” the skinny guy chuckled, walking over to the bar and grabbing five glasses and a bottle of gin, “I’m Dave, and that scrawny-looking douche bag there is Tony.”

“Eat me, Dave.”

“You know, maybe someday I will.”

They both laughed at their poor attempt at a joke, pulling up chairs and sitting down heavily. Dave started pouring a few drinks, serving up Tony and himself first before handing the next one to Glenn. “We met on I-95 coming out of Philly… damn shit show that was,” Dave said, handing off another glass to Daryl, who took it warily before sitting down at the bar, “And who might you folks be?”

“My name’s Glenn,” he said, sitting down next to Daryl. Glenn was smiling, but unsurely, casting harried glances over his shoulder towards Daryl every now and again, waiting to see if Daryl had a plan in the works, while adding, “It's nice to meet some new people.”

Daryl introduced himself succinctly, followed by Hershel. The two men sitting in front of them seemed to relax a bit, once they were all on a first name basis, settling in and tearing into their drinks without a second thought.

“So, what are you folks doing around here?” Dave asked, kicking his feet up onto the table in front of him, his drink cradled between his palms.

“Just passing through,” Daryl muttered, leaning back on his elbows against the bar, “we had a camp up near Atlanta, but we had to leave. Too close to the city. We’re headed to Fort Benning now, the three of us.”

“Well, I hate to piss in your cornflakes,” Dave said, looking distinctly apologetic in a way that made Daryl’s stomach curl with anxiety, noting that it was only paper thin, “We ran across a grunt who was stationed at Benning. He said the place was overrun by lamebrains.”

“Fort Benning’s gone?” Glenn piped in, sitting forwards in his chair, “For real?”

“Yeah kid, sadly I am.”

Sadly my ass, Daryl thought to himself, his fingers flexing near the waist of his jeans.

“We’ve heard it all,” Tony spoke this time, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Daryl closely, “Refugee camps in DC, ferries in the Gulf carrying people out to islands… latest was a railyard, sending trains off to Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, and the like.”

“Nebraska?” Daryl asked sceptically.

Tony shrugged, “Low population, lots of guns.”

“Makes sense,” Dave said.

“Well I don’t know about Nebraska or Kansas, but South Dakota’s done for.” Daryl said, picking up his drink and taking a casual sip, “We knew a guy who came from out that way, turns out this… disease started in Sioux Falls, and made its way out from there. He said this has been going on for years, but there was a quarantine, and they managed to keep it under wraps.”

“Hey, that makes sense!” Dave said suddenly, kicking his feet off the table and leaning forwards, hands on his knees, “I got a cousin in Wyoming, and about a year ago, when she was coming to visit me in Philly, she said she had to go down through Nebraska, because all the highways into and out of South Dakota were closed. We just assumed it was a short-term thing, that we’d see it on the news or something, but we never did. And then, I suppose we just forgot.” He chuckled, shrugging, “Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”

“I guess,” Daryl said.

“But that just goes to show, that the truth is there is no way out of this mess.” Dave said, draining his glass and pouring himself another, not taking his eyes off Daryl, “You just keep going from one pipe dream to the next, praying one of these mindless freaks doesn't grab a hold of you when you sleep.”

“If you sleep,” Tony added.

“Yeah, about that.” Dave was leaning back once more, but now Daryl was acutely aware that all eyes were on him, Tony and Dave both watching him with intense curiosity, and he felt his skin crawl. “It doesn't look like you guys are hanging your hats here,” Dave asked, “You holed up somewhere else?”

“We told you,” Hershel said, speaking up for the first time since these two jokers stepped into the bar, “we had a camp in Atlanta, we’re just passing through.”

Dave hummed, leaning on his elbows against his knees, his fingers knotted between them. “We passed your car on the way in, right? And first, let me say,” Dave kissed his fingers, “’67 Chevy Impala? What a beaut! But it looks kind of clean… where’s your gear? Your food? We’re living in our car… and yours just doesn’t look like you folks are.”

“We’ve been in town a few days,” Daryl offered, his heart beat hammering in his chest. He dug his fingers into the bar, before forcing himself to physically relax. He had to keep calm, at least on the outside. He knew where this conversation was going, and by the looks of it so did Hershel. They couldn’t afford for anyone to lose their cool. These men were strangers, complete unknowns in a lawless world, and there was no telling what they might do.

“Oh really? You know, we’ve been thinking of setting up around here,” Tony said, shuffling in his seat, “What’s it like? Is it safe?”

“It can be,” Hershel muttered, playing with his full glass of gin, “though we have killed a couple of walkers around here.”

“So what, you guys set up on the outskirts or something? That new development? Trailer park or something?” Dave guessed, before taking a good long look a Hershel and asking, “A farm?”

Glenn gulped audibly, and that was the end of their ruse.

“That’s it, you have a farm!” Dave said, laughing and clapping his hands together, “What’s it like? Is it safe? It's got to be—you got food, water?”

“You got any cooze?” Tony asked, and a chill ran down Daryl’s spine, the bottles along the back wall suddenly rattling together, “Ain't had a piece of ass in weeks.”

“That’s it,” Daryl said, hopping off his stool and motioning for Hershel and Glenn to follow, the glasses hanging above the bar tinkling together, joining the noise of the liquor bottles, rattling and shaking as if a train were rolling past, “we’ve said enough. Good luck settin’ up somewhere permanent.”

“Well, hang on a second.” Dave stood up as well, placing his glass on the table and gesturing outwards with his upturned palms, “This farm... it sounds pretty sweet. Don't it sound sweet, Tony?”

“ _Real_ sweet,” said Tony.

“We’ve been having a real hard time on the road, man. How about a little Southern hospitality?” Dave scoffed, “I don't see why you can't make room for a few more. We can pool our resources, our manpower.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Daryl said, hands on his hips and keeping close to his weapon. Glenn was looking at him nervously, itching to get his hands on his shot gun, while Hershel was just staring up at the glasses, and down to the bottles as they rattled violently, looking confused. Daryl took a deep breath, and the bottles and glasses stopped shaking. The only noise left in the room was the sound of their breathing and Tony’s incredulous laughter.

“Well I can’t see why not.” Dave took a step to the side, putting himself between the group and the door, all with his hands in the air in mock surrender, “You guys are something else! I thought we were friends.”

“We just met you,” Daryl said, gathering in closer to Glenn and Hershel, putting himself between them and Dave, “and we don’t know you. We got people we have to look out for.”

“Us too,” said Dave, the smile on his face growing wider by the minute, a Cheshire cat grin, and Daryl couldn’t help it when the glasses on the tables shifted slightly to the left, “You don't know anything about us. You don't know what we've had to go through out there, the things we've had to do. I bet you've had to do some of those same things yourself. Am I right? 'Cause ain't nobody's hands clean in what's left of this world. We're all the same. So, come on, let's... let's take a nice, friendly hayride in your sweet muscle car to this farm, and we'll get to know each other.”

“That's not gonna happen.” Daryl said, and everyone in the room jumped when Tony hopped out of his chair, his shotgun in hand.

“This is fucking bullshit!” He shouted, brandishing his gun in front of him and waving it at the three of them, “I'll shoot you three assholes in the head and take your damn farm!”

The bottles lining the walls, the glasses above the bar, the mirrors on the walls and all the windows. Every single piece of glass, from lightbulbs to table settings, shattered in an instant, raining down on in a sheet of crystal shards.

Hershel cried out, and Glenn grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to the ground and covering his head with his body, his own hands curling over his head and pulling his cap down to cover his face. Tony gasped and Dave shouted something unintelligible, both ducking down and covering their heads with their hands.

Daryl didn’t hesitate.

Standing firm, dead center in the shower of glass, he whipped out his pistol and put his first bullet in Tony’s head, right between his eyes.

He went down with a thump, his legs crumpling underneath him and the glass crunching against his back as his body lay sprawled out on the floor. Dave swore, and before Daryl had the chance to turn around, he had his pistol in hand, pointing it directly at Daryl’s head, finger on the trigger.

“What the _fuck_ , man!?” Dave cried, the hand holding his gun shaking as he looked over at his friend’s motionless body, “You fucking shot him! You killed him!”

“Ain’t nothing he wasn’t gonna do to us,” Daryl muttered, his gun down at his side. He didn’t dare raise it, not with Dave as high strung as he was, his pistol already aimed at the center of Daryl’s forehead. Any sudden movement, and he’d shoot. Daryl had lived through some pretty grievous injuries in his life, but there was no way he’d live through a bullet in the head. “You have a chance to get out of here, man. He threatened us, but you didn’t. You can go… the door’s right there, I ain’t stopping you.”

“Fuck that!” Dave spat, his eyes red and wild, shifting back and forth between the balls of his feet, “What the fuck did you do!? The glass, man, what— did you rig the place with explosives!? What the fuck!?”

“This is your last chance,” Daryl said, calmly. He stood stock still, his feet planted to the ground and his stance firm, only looking away to risk a glace at Glenn and Hershel, to see that they were alright. Glenn was staring at Tony’s corpse, looking like he was torn between puking and crying, while Hershel never once took his eyes off Dave. He was transfixed, watching the gun in his hand with unwavering intensity, face red as he held his breath.

“No, fuck you—”

The gun pulled free from Dave’s hands and flew across the room, thrown by an invisible hand, landing with a metallic thud behind the bar. Dave watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as his gun sailed through the air, his hands still held out in front of him as if it were still clutched between them, his mouth wide open in a soundless exclamation.

The bullet caught him in the temple, and Daryl had his gun tucked back in his belt loop before Dave’s body hit the ground.

“Holy shit,” Glenn breathed, helping Hershel to his feet, “Daryl what the—I mean, what did you—”

“You’re bleeding, son.” Hershel said, pointing to Daryl’s nose. And sure enough, when Daryl raised his fingers to his lip, there was a thin stream of hot, viscous blood running from his nostril, dripping past his mouth and off his chin. Hershel picked up a napkin off the bar, shaking the glass off before holding it out to him. Daryl took it with murmured thanks, dabbing at his nose and trying to stem the blood while he stared past him, eyes unfocused and pointed at the wall over Hershel’s shoulder.

What had he done?

Hershel was watching him, cool and collected, and Daryl knew that he knew. Hershel knew he was what made the glass explode, and that he’d torn the gun from Dave’s hands with nothing other than a thought. Glenn was still looking around the room in a state of shock, so Daryl was certain he remained unaware of Daryl’s… proclivities. But Hershel _knew_.

He’d never done anything that big before. He’d never moved something on such a grand scale, not consciously at least. The most he’d done was levitate a pencil with Cas there to supervise, and let him know when to take a break. This was… unprecedented. Looking around the room at all the broken glass, the blown-out doors and the shattered mirrors, Daryl could hardly believe he’d done all of that with his _mind_. And tearing the gun from Dave’s hands? How had he even managed to keep on his feet?

“It must have been the adrenaline,” Hershel said, seemingly reading his mind as he stepped towards Daryl, keeping his voice low so Glenn wouldn’t overhear, “It’s alright, son. You saved our lives. You did what had to be done.”

“You don’t know that,” Daryl muttered, his hands shaking at his sides, “and I just… I can’t believe I just—”

“You can panic when we get home,” said Hershel, and with one hand on Daryl’s shoulders he led him towards the doors, “There might be others here, and the walkers will have been drawn by the noise. We have to go, Daryl.”

“But—”

“I won’t ask, if you don’t tell.” Hershel said with a smile, “I’ve had more than enough reality expanding for one day, don’t you think?”

Daryl nodded once, his relief palpable and he clapped Hershel on the shoulder in thanks. He was right, and they needed to go. If the gunfire didn’t bring a towns worth of walkers down on them, then the all the glass in the building basically imploding would. Gathering their things, the three of them walked towards the door, only to stop and crouch down to the floor as headlights pulled up outside.

The car stopped, and whoever was driving killed the engine. Daryl held his breath, his back to the door as he listened to the driver climb out of the car and slam the door behind them. “Tony?” they called, “Hey Dave, where you at?!”

From his left, pressed up against the door just like Daryl and Hershel were, with his gun clutched in his white knuckled fists, Glenn slumped backwards and whispered, “Shit.”

* * *

 

“They’re back!” Carl cried from the front yard, and Cas was hot on his heels as he ran out the door.

Sure enough, that was Daryl behind the wheel of his car, with Hershel sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Castiel sighed in relief as he watched Daryl throw the car into park, killing the engine and kicking open the front door. Cas leaned against the pillar of the porch, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for Daryl to come to him, and he didn’t have to wait long.

The second Daryl stepped out of the car, he was headed up the lawn towards Castiel, wearing a solemn frown and a smear of blood along his upper lip. “What happened?” Cas asked, gesturing to the blood.

“It’s nothing,” Daryl waved him away, “We had a bit of a situation, but I managed to defuse it.”

“What kind of a situation?” Castiel demanded, “You’re bleeding, that doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Daryl sighed, running a hand down his face, “Alright, it wasn’t _nothing_ , but I can’t talk about that right now. We have a problem, Cas.”

Before he could ask him to elaborate, Dale, who was standing next to the car, asked, “Who’s that?”

Daryl turned to him, glancing over his shoulder at the car, and following his line of sight, Castiel saw who Dale was referring to. A young man, who couldn’t be older than Maggie or Glenn, was tied up and blindfolded in the back seat. With a shrug, Daryl looked back at Dale and said, “A problem. His name is Randall.”


	27. Sanctimonious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, this is a doozy! We've got some heavy stuff in here, and some pretty intense moral quandaries, so be forewarned. There's also a couple instances of past childhood abuse visited in this chapter, and a brief, vague mention or rape/non-con. Any stuff in italics is stuff that is being remembered... hopefully it reads okay, if not, please let me know! I can try formatting it differently :)
> 
> I hope you like it, and thank you for all of the wonderful comments and kudos! I love hearing from you <3

Daryl stepped outside the barn, ignoring Randall’s whimpering pleas as he closed and locked the door behind him. His hands shook pulling a smoke from his pack, and he actively disregarded the way his knuckles stung as he flicked his lighter, and the smell of blood as he lit his cigarette. Taking a deep haul, he leaned up against the side of the barn, the wood warm from the sun and soothing against his back as the heat seeped through his leather vest. And when he exhaled, he watched distantly as the smoke swirled in an updraft, dissipating, pretending he didn’t hear Randall crying inside.

His knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands, and looking down at the torn skin, the patchy smears of blood, he grimaced. He’d live, it wasn’t the worst injury he’d ever suffered, but it was how he got them that made him sick to his stomach. They reminded him too much of his father’s hands, the swollen joints and scrapes from fabric and drywall.

His dad didn’t like to hit Daryl or Merle with his hands, and while he’d give their mother a smack to the face from time to time, it was always with an open palm, and never a closed fist. Will Dixon never wanted to risk injuring himself in the process. But he had no problem getting hurt when he was putting his fists through walls or smashing their meagre possessions when he was drunk and having fun.

Will’s hands were always torn up, scarred and battered from whatever stupid shit he got up to with his buddies when he was plastered. And when they weren’t raw and bloody, his knuckles were permanently swollen, fat and round, and so arthritic he could hardly manage to open them all the way. Daryl knew them well, after his mom died he was the one to bandage his dad up after a rough night, tending to the hands that terrorized him and his family since the moment he was old enough to talk back. He disinfected and sutured the very same hands that whipped him when he made a mistake, or broke something on accident. He bandaged them, even when only moments before they had been jamming a still lit cigarette into his shoulder, just because his dad wanted to watch him squirm.

“Shit,” Daryl choked out, his breath catching in his chest as he stared at his hands, and he could no longer ignore the whimpering cries that permeated the walls of the barn, quiet and pitiful, and so familiar he felt like he could vomit. Hunched over, his hands on his knees, he closed his eyes tightly and tried to remind himself that he was the reason for this predicament in the first place

He could have, and probably should have, left Randall for dead. Once Tony and Dave’s friends rolled up in their car, they wasted no time scouring the town for their friends, who were unfortunately lying dead in the bar they were currently occupying, the smoking gun still in Daryl’s hand. Wanting to avoid further confrontation, Daryl hustled Glenn and Hershel out the back of the bar and down the alley, the plan being to make a break for the car and rip out of there before the strangers canvassing the town could find out what they did, or who they were. They made it as far as halfway down the alley when Randall ran the corner and skidded to a halt in front of the three of them.

Randall had a pistol in hand, but he didn’t shoot. He saw the three of them with their weapons trained on him, gasped once and raised his free hand in the air, the other lowering the gun to the ground. Glenn, who was trigger-happy when completely freaked out, shot on instinct, but he only managed to hit the kid in the foot, sending him crumpling to the ground, howling, and bringing the whole roving group of armed strangers down on their position.

Thankfully, the exploding bar and the ensuing gunfire had begun to draw walkers, otherwise Glenn, Hershel and Daryl would have been done for. The dead ones managed to run the group out of town, forcing them into their cars even as Randall screamed and begged for them not to leave him. And that was Daryl’s cue for them to leave, as he hustled Glenn and Hershel towards the Impala.

Randall begged them not to leave him, saying that the walkers would tear him apart, and that it would be kinder just to kill him. Daryl thought about it, his hand clenched around his pistol, but whenever he turned back with the intent to put a bullet between Randall’s eyes, all he could see was the young kid, no older than Glenn or Maggie, lowering his weapon to the ground and asking them not to kill him.

So, he couldn’t kill him, least he could still leave him. It was just a shot to the foot, he could survive if he really wanted to. That was the plan too, until Randall shouted out “Hershel Greene!” in that pitiful, simpering voice. “Hershel Greene,” Randall said again, “you can’t leave me here! I know you. You sat in front of my mom and me in church every Sunday, ever since I was a kid! Annette used to make peach cobbler every year for the spring bake sale! You’re a good man, you won’t leave me here to die. I went to school with Maggie, for Christ sake!”

And with one look at Hershel’s pale, resigned expression Daryl knew they had to take him along. If he wasn’t able to kill this kid, then they would have to take him. What if his group came back for him? What if he managed to survive, and came looking for revenge? How the hell was he supposed to go home to their farm, and tell Rick and all the others that there may or may not be one or thirty or who knows how many people out there, armed, scared and angry, looking to take their home? How could he say to them he didn’t even have the nerve to shoot the kid then and there?

He’d gone soft, Daryl realized, as he helped Hershel load Randall into the car, and ordered Glenn to tie a bandana around his eyes. Sure, he could kill Dave and Tony without batting an eye, using his freaky mind powers at that (something he was still trying to wrap his head around, truth be told), but he couldn’t kill a kid? It wasn’t like he was innocent, he was living and working with those motherfuckers who had tried to kill them. He had pulled a gun on them, and only dropped it when he realized he was outnumbered. And based on what Randall had just told him, when he was popping open his stitches one by one, that wasn’t a nice group of people he had out there, and they might even be looking for him.

They were mean, nasty, murdering rapist sons of bitches. And they were heavily armed.

Daryl hesitated. He could kill Dave and Tony, but he couldn’t kill Randall… what was the difference? Either way, he was a fucking murderer. He’d killed them, shot them point blank and for all of his bluster and arrogance, Daryl had never shot a person before. Not that Dave and Tony didn’t have it coming, but still, it was murder, and it was so different from killing walkers, or a fucking wendigo.

He had to torture Randall, he rationalized, because he was too much of a baby to kill him. He was the one who brought him back to the farm, who refused to leave him for dead, and now he had to be the one to take on this burden. It was his mistake, his fault, and he would do whatever it took to make things right… even if it made him feel like his father.

Not for the first time, Daryl missed Merle. If his brother were there, for one, he wouldn’t have brought Randall back at all. No, Merle would have caught him hesitating, taken the gun from him hand and killed the kid himself, all while calling Daryl a pussy. It was how they functioned; Merle calling the shots, and Daryl doing what he was told. A routine built and pounded into him since birth, first by his father, then his brother. And while he relished his occasional bouts of freedom, Daryl had to admit that life was so much easier when all he had to do was _listen_. He could just do what he was told without being burdened by the implications of his actions, without having to care.

It was a freedom he hated to miss.

Now? He could choose for himself, think for himself, and with Castiel’s help he’d been getter at speaking up for himself. And on the day to day, it was fine. It was great. He felt liberated, and free. But whenever he was faced with something he had to choose, something big that he had to decide, which would affect not only him but Cas, and the rest of the group, he always seemed to make the wrong one. Throwing himself into searching for Sophia was the wrong choice, and now, he had done it again by not killing Randall. By bringing him back here to become an even bigger problem.

His cigarette was all but burnt out into a nub when he came back to himself, his knuckles throbbing and the sun beating against his forehead. He was calmer than he was when he first came out of the barn, and he was better able to ignore Randall’s pleas now that he had taken a moment to himself. Flicking his cigarette away, he hiked his crossbow up on his shoulder, and started down the path towards the fire, ready to tell the group what he knew. 

The whole farm was gathered there, circled around the fire pit and waiting anxiously. Some were more upset than others, Shane and Lori, notably, but everyone was tense, drawn taut as bowstrings as they awaited Daryl’s findings. Castiel was the only one who wasn’t invested, as he stared across the field at something distant and meaningless, both of his hands jammed in the big front pocket of the red Stanford hoodie he sometimes wore. He was worrying his lower lip and his hands were moving in his pocket, seemingly tossing something back and forth between his palms, out of sight of the group.

Daryl didn’t have a moment to dwell on it though, as Rick asked him the moment he saw him, “What did you find out?”

“Boy there’s got a gang,” Daryl said, his hand twisting around the strap of his crossbow, and at the sound of his voice Castiel snapped back to reality. He looked over at Daryl and his expression fell at the sight of his knuckles, a frown marring his features. “He’s got thirty men,” Daryl continued, watching Cas’ hands moving inside of his pockets, his ears picking up a distinctly curious rattling sound, “they got heavy artillery and they ain’t looking to make friends.”

“They roll through here? We’re dead.” He wasn’t trying to scare them, but the effect was clear. Every single one of their faces fell in time.

“What did you do?” Carol asked, her gaze flicking from his hands, up to his face.

“Had a little chat.” Daryl said, and Castiel rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Well, that settles it,” Rick said, his jaw set firm, “he’s a threat. We have to eliminate the threat.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Castiel and Dale both stepped forward, completely shocked by Rick’s sudden decision, but the rest of the group was passive. They didn’t react at all, and Daryl could have sworn they all gave a collective sigh of relief when Rick voiced his verdict.

All save for Cas and Dale.

“You’re just going to kill him?” Dale asked, flabbergasted, followed by Castiel’s snappish, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rick raised his hand, and shot Cas a dirty look. “It’s settled,” he said, turning to walk away, “We’ll do it tonight.”

Dale didn’t let him off the hook, and the old man was hot on Rick’s heels as he walked down the yard towards the barn. Daryl, figuring his time under the spotlight was through for the moment, started to walk back to their tent, so he could bandage his hands properly, when Castiel grabbed his elbow and pulled him to the side.

“What did you do to that kid?” Castiel demanded, keeping his voice down as they were still in earshot of the rest of the group. Cas was furious, his eyebrows knotted in the center and his lips pulled into a tight line. One hand gripped tightly at Daryl’s arm, while the other was curiously still in his pocket, not moving now but gripping something just as tight.

“I did what I had to,” Daryl snapped back, wrenching his arm from Cas’ hold, and immediately regretting it. The look on Castiel’s face was like an icy knife to the chest, his expression falling into sincere disappointment, and Daryl immediately wanted to run off and hide in his tent. Like he didn’t already feel like a monster… now he had to feel like a jerk as well.

“And what does that entail?” Cas asked, less adamant this time and more resigned, “Torture? Did you torture that kid?”

“What does it matter?” Daryl rebutted, flexing his injured hands, “We found out what we needed to know, and now we can deal with the problem.”

“By killing him.” Cas said, jamming both hands now in his pocket, that rattling noise echoing from inside the big, red pouch, “By killing a kid who did nothing wrong. Who was putting his weapon down and surrendering when you three shot him and kidnapped him. Tell me, do you think that executing him for that is justified? Do you honestly think the only way out of this situation is murdering an _innocent_ kid?”

Daryl sneered, “It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Dave and Tony are dead, Randall’s group is dangerous… we need to kill him.” Daryl spoke slowly, like he had to break it down for him, and he could see it infuriated Castiel. Good, he thought to himself. Make him mad. It was easier to deal with than disappointment.

“We don’t need to do anything.” Cas bit out, gritting his teeth, “That’s the beauty of your species, you have free will. You can choose another way, and there is _always_ another way! It’s what I fought and fell for, something I already took for granted once, and I refuse to do it again.”

Daryl was struck silent, as he often was whenever Cas pulled out the angelic wisdom on him, and he bit his thumbnail pensively, waving him on with his free hand as he waited for him to get to his point. “Randall is innocent,” Castiel said, pulling one hand out of his pocket and gesturing with an empty palm to the barn where he was being held, “That is not something to be taken lightly. He’s not committed a crime that we can prove, he’s not committed a sin worth dying for, and even if he had, its not our place to decide who lives and who dies. He’s young, scared and fighting to survive, just like us.” Cas sighed, running his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes tight, “This is a major decision, and not one that we should come to lightly. If we kill him, Daryl, it will invariably change this group for the worse, forever. There’s no coming back from this.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Just a little?” Castiel huffed and opened his mouth to respond, but Daryl cut him off, “I mean, I killed Dave and Tony, and you ain’t getting all uppity about that. Ain’t that murder, too?”

“Yes, that was murder.” Cas said, standing his ground as Daryl spit off to the side, shooting Cas a dark look. He knew what he did, but it was so much harder to handle coming from the lips of someone he cared about.

“So, what’s the difference?” He asked.

“This would be an execution,” Cas said plainly, “Murder is never justified, but sometimes it’s the only option. They were going to kill you, and you acted in self defense.”

“Randall’s group might kill us, or Randall himself,” said Daryl.

“That ‘might’ is the important part,” Castiel said, taking a step back and leaning heavily against a tree, “Intent, action and consequence matter. We are not talking pre-emptive justice, we are talking about executing a young man for a crime he might never commit. Punishing an innocent human being for the crimes of another… it’s inexcusable.”

“And why are you arguing with _me_ about it?” Daryl asked, a deep exhaustion seeping into his bones. He had managed to pull himself out of his head back at the barn, to convince himself that this was all necessary, and all a direct consequence of _his_ fuck up. Now Cas was (as he so often did) changing his mind, and he didn’t want to think about that. “Whatever Rick says goes,” he said, “I made the mistake of bringing him back here, I fucked up, and now its Rick who has to fix it. I won’t fight it, and I won’t make things harder on him. It’s his call.”

“Can you honestly tell me that this is right? That you don’t see a problem with this?” Cas asked, pleadingly.

Daryl wanted to say yes, the word dangling at the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth, but his breath caught in his throat and the words wouldn’t come out. Instead he snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clacking with the force of it, and forced himself to think before he spoke. Castiel clearly cared about what happened to Randall, and Daryl cared about him. He could at least mull his question over.

The thing was, he didn’t think it was right. It was why he hadn’t killed Randall back in Senoia, and why he was so uncomfortable with beating information out of him. Randall had stood down, hadn’t attacked them when he had the chance, and he wasn’t threatening them or nothing now. He was scared, and hurt, but he wasn’t angry. Or violent. He wasn’t a creep like Tony or a calculating psycho like Dave. He was just a kid, and to kill him based on the actions of two people he was associated with was wrong, or for something he didn’t, and may never do.

_He remembered when he was thirteen, living in his daddy’s house with his brother, not long after his mom had died. It was down to Daryl to pick up the brunt of the housework, as Merle was never home and his old man demanded it be done, though he’d never lift a finger to do it himself. So, Daryl did the dishes and made dinner, Daryl did laundry and cleaned up as best he could, all while hunting for their food and chopping wood. He was only a kid, and he was spread so thin that most days he was asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow._

_One day, as he was hunched over their kitchen sink scrubbing day old dishes, his daddy had sidled up next to him, clapped him on the shoulder and told him to grab his bike and head into town. This wasn’t an odd request, his dad had him pick stuff up for him all the time, and looking back at that moment, Daryl couldn’t even remember what it was his father had asked him to get. All he did remember was it was something frivolous, and Daryl was exhausted, frustrated and feeling particularly bold._

_He had turned to his dad, looked him dead in the eye and told him to go fetch it himself._

_His daddy got real quiet, his eyes blank and jaw clenched firmly like it always did when he was about to snap, and in that moment, Daryl relished waiting for his retaliation. He was sick to death of doing all the work, and talking back for once had felt so fucking good that he would take a few licks just for the sake of it. But instead of smacking him across the face, or shoving him up against the wall, Will had turned and hollered out the window, calling Merle into the house, his eyes never leaving Daryl’s._

_And as Merle walked through the door, Will Dixon unbuckled his belt, wrapped it around his fist and winked at Daryl before beating his oldest son half to death._

_Daryl had cried that day, and not quietly. Big, ugly sobs wrenched from his chest as begged his dad to stop, Merle’s blood splattered across the kitchen cabinets and the linoleum floor. He’d reached out and grabbed hold of his dad’s arm, only to get a back hand to the face and shoved across the room, before Will doubled down on his brother. He tried to stop him, but all he managed to do was make it worse._

_Merle was the one who got Daryl to stop trying. Merle, with his cracked lip and black eye, who’d looked up at him from the floor, curled in the fetal position as their dad gave him a firm kick to the ribs and knocked the breath out of him. He’d caught Daryl’s eye, spat onto the carpet and told him, “Shut your fucking trap, you big baby! If you’d learn to shut up and do what you’re told in the first place, we wouldn’t be here! Stop making it worse, and quiet the hell down!”_

It was his dad’s favorite tactic, whenever Daryl was too willful, or when he remembered it was impossible to break him through physical violence alone. But Daryl had learned that day, that sometimes, even if it weren’t your fault, you just had to shut up, close your eyes and take your licks regardless. And there wasn’t any use in fighting it, because you’d just end up making things worse.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Cas.” Daryl said softly, watching as Castiel dug deeper into his pocket, “Right or wrong, Randall is gonna die, and I’m not gonna stick my neck out to stop it.”

As the words left his mouth, Daryl didn’t know what to expect, but he had at least anticipated Cas would talk back. He was ready for more of a fight. It was Castiel he was talking to, after all, and he was the most stubborn son of a bitch Daryl knew, next to Merle.

Instead, Castiel didn’t say a thing. He just stood there silently, with his big, sad eyes zeroed in on Daryl’s, as if he were looking for some indication that Daryl wasn’t serious. He looked up at him pleadingly, as piteously as he had when he asked Daryl his question, and it seemed he didn’t like his answer. With a deep, bone shaking sigh, Cas rattled that something in his pocket absentmindedly, and walked off without another word.

Daryl pretended that didn’t sting. He shook his head and refused to watch Castiel go, ignored him as he meandered down the cow path to their tent. He hadn’t said anything he didn’t believe, and there was no use in going after him anyways. Let Cas be disappointed in him, it wasn’t like he was going to change his mind, and he wasn’t the one acting like a baby, or throwing a hissy fit about it. Cas had been moody as shit lately anyways; that was probably all there was to it. He wasn’t normally so sanctimonious, even though he had been an angel, so he was probably just on the downturn of a mood swing. Daryl knew Cas had killed before, hell, he’d killed his own brothers and sisters for the sake of Dean and Sam. Where he got off lecturing him on right and wrong was beyond him.

But even though he was completely convinced he had done the right thing by working those answers out of Randall, and that Rick had made the right call in deciding to off him, Daryl couldn’t get Cas’ stupid nagging voice out of his head. Even as he wandered the farm, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders bowed against the early autumn wind, he could still hear him. “It’s an execution, Daryl,” the annoying Cas-voice said, repeatedly, like a damned recording, “This isn’t right, and you know it.”

_You’re a good little soldier, Daryl. It took you a lifetime, but you know how to listen to your old man._

He grit his teeth. This was just great, he thought to himself, sidling up next to the house and sitting down on the ground with an annoyed grunt. Like he didn’t have enough on his plate, now he had to contend with a pissed off, moody boyfriend and a group of people who were looking to right his wrongs. What didn’t Cas understand about that? It was his fault Randall was there in the first place. He couldn’t kill him in town, and he couldn’t leave him behind, so now Daryl had to be the one to deal with him.

They couldn’t keep him in camp. There was no telling what he would do, or where he’d go. They couldn’t release him into the wilderness, it was basically the same as killing him anyways, and he’d probably go right back to his old group. And then what? Did Cas not think they’d come looking for revenge? Sure, he’d blindfolded him the whole way home, but Randall knew Maggie and Hershel, it would be easy enough to find their address in the damn phone book, if he didn’t know it already.

He killed two of their men, and kidnapped a third. He’d put them all in danger.

They had to kill him.

Burying his head in his hands, Daryl closed his eyes tight, his dad’s remembered voice booming in his ear. And when he opened them, leaning back against the wall of the house, he could almost see his dad sitting in his recliner by their brand-new TV, in nothing but his drawers, smoking a cigarette, and hollering for Daryl to bring him a beer.

_Daryl was fifteen then, a scrawny little thing, all long limbs and a wiry frame, and he was covered in dirt and grime. He’d just come back from a hunt, with a couple rabbits slung over his shoulder, and he went right into the kitchen when he came in through the back door. His dad hadn’t even noticed he was gone, and he’d been screaming for a beer before Daryl even made it into the house._

_He noticed Daryl when he heard the screen door swing shut, slamming against the frame, and turned to look over his shoulder. “Oh,” he’d said, his eyes glazed over and half in the bag already, the cooler he kept by his chair overturned and empty, “there you are. Get me a beer, Dare?”_

_That was odd, Daryl had thought to himself as he dropped his catch on their kitchen table, already set out with newspapers. It was rare his dad would ever ask him for something. He wasted no time grabbing him a cold beer from the fridge, uncapping it as he walked towards his fathers reclining form. He held it out in front of him, waiting for his dad to take it from him, but his father only stared for a long, long time. Daryl didn’t dare move, didn’t blink or look away. He stood there, arm held out and the beer bottle dripping condensation off his fingers and onto the carpeted floor, while his dad stared up at his face with an unreadable expression. And when his dad finally took it from him, his fat knuckled fingers caressing the back of Daryl’s thin, grimy hand in the process, Daryl knew he shouldn’t stick around long._

_His dad was in a right mood._

_He tried to pull away, but his old man reached out with both hands, holding his own tight against the cold bottle. “You look so much like your momma,” his dad had muttered, looking up at his face and holding his hand tightly, “you got her eyes, and her hair. She was a good woman, my Leanne.” He sniffed, his eyes red and watery from the drink, “Too good a woman for me.”_

_“Sit with me,” he demanded when he let go of Daryl’s hands, righting the cooler and patting the top of it, “Come sit with your old man.”_

_“I should get back to the—”_

_But his dad didn’t let him finish, and instead grabbed his hand once more and tugged him down, Daryl’s butt hitting the top of the cooler with a hollow thump. His dad let him go, but stared, silently daring him to try and stand, to not listen to his command and instead go to work on their dinner. It didn’t matter that what Daryl was trying to do would be beneficial to him as well (he may have been too drunk to realize it, but Will had yet to eat all day long). No, he was in one of his moods, and Daryl needed to do what he was told, if he knew what was good for him._

_Daryl slumped down with a sigh, his hands curled in his lap as he stared straight ahead at the TV, droning quietly as some twenty-four-hour news show rolled on. His dad relaxed into his chair with a satisfied nod, giving Daryl a pat on the knee… and leaving his hand there when he was done, the rough callouses on his palm scratching Daryl’s skin, just under the hem of his shorts._

_“You’re a good little soldier, Daryl. It took you a lifetime, but you know how to listen to your old man.” His dad said, his thumb running across the rise of Daryl’s knobby knee, “So much like your momma. She was a good woman; she knew how to listen. Sure, she was stubborn sometimes, but she always came around in the end.”_

_“And thank God you didn’t end up like your brother,” he scoffed, snorting and spitting on the carpet, missing his chaw bucket, grimy and unmoveable, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that boy was a thorn in my side. I ain’t never,_ ever _known a man as stupid as him. You knock that boy down, he’d get back up again and ask for another.” With a smile, he turned to Daryl, tightening his grip on his knee and trailing his fingers up under the hem of his shorts, “Not you though. You’re a good boy, Dare, a smart boy. You’re the only one who’d never leave me.”_

_And even though he knew he should keep his mouth shut, Daryl just couldn’t help himself. Not when that grimy hand was sliding up his thigh, and his daddy was watching him, bleary eyed and drunk, talking out his ass just because he was in a mood for reminiscing. “He left,” Daryl said, shifting back on the cooler so his dad’s hand slipped back down to his knee, “because you used to treat him like shit. You’d beat him half to death the last time, and he didn’t even do nothin! I talked back, I messed up… and you punished_ him _! Even with mom, you—” he exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at his father’s face, not wanting to see the smack coming before it hit; the anticipation was always worse than the blow._

_“Why did you never hit me?” Daryl asked, hunching over on himself, “You do now. Now that there’s no one else… so why did you hurt them, when you really wanted to hurt me?”_

_He didn’t expect an honest answer. He didn’t even expect recognition of his question. He’d confronted his dad before on this matter, and it always ended up the same. Will would deny ever laying a hand on him, on any of them, and accuse them of trying to make him feel guilty, to fess up to something he didn’t even do. He’d say they were ungrateful, that they didn’t give a shit about him, even in the face of wounds he’d only inflicted a few hours prior. He’d be so convincing, so sure and adamant that after a while, you’d start to think you were going crazy… even though you knew he was lying through his teeth. It’s why his mom stopped talking back, why his brother had left, and why Daryl spent all his time out in the woods. You had to get outside of his realm of crazy to feel alive again._

_So, when his dad looked at him and squeezed his thigh, Daryl only assumed he was going with his same MO: deny, deny, deny. Instead, his old man took a swig of his beer, and said coolly, like he was discussing something mundane, like the weather, “That’s ‘cause you don’t give two shits about yourself.”_

_Daryl looked over at him, eyes wide and stunned. “You don’t care about yourself, and you don’t care who hurts you,” his dad explained, taking another sip and spitting in his chaw bucket, hitting the rim this time, “If anything, it just makes you more obstinate. I had to take a different approach to teach you to listen Daryl, and mark my words, that’s an important fucking lesson.”_

_“You care about other people, though.” His dad said, his thumb pressing circles into his thin, gangly thigh, “Just like your momma. I could beat you till the cows came home, wouldn’t learn you no different. But if I took it out on your mom, or your brother? You’d learn. You did.”_

_“T-that’s not fair,” Daryl stammered, tears welling in his eyes and he blinked them away furiously, “That ain’t fair, they didn’t do nothin’, it was—”_

_His dad sat up straight in his chair faster than Daryl could react, and the back of his hand caught Daryl across the cheek. Daryl sat there, stunned as his dad lay his hand back down on his leg, higher up this time, curving down into the juncture of his inner thigh and squeezed, hard. “Life ain’t fair,” he spat, “you stand up, you get beaten down, but if you just roll with it? You ain’t never getting crushed.”_

_“If you ain’t a hammer, you’re a nail. You and me Daryl? Livin’ out here, forgotten in the sticks? You best believe we’re nails. Always have been. Nails have no power, boy; they live by the hammer.” His daddy took a long gulp of his beer and handed the bottle to Daryl, shaking the last dregs of it at him as a peace offering, so Daryl grabbed it and sipped it gingerly, ignoring the sting in his cheek. “You don’t want to be one of those nails standing straight up,” his dad said, shaking his thigh, “Those are the ones that get hammered down the fastest, and they always do. Now, make no mistake, we all get beat down once or twice: its how we learn our place. But smart folk like us? We learn not to stand up again. When we get bent, we stay bent. Let all those other nails get beat into the ground. You may not be standing, but you’ll live. You’ll survive.”_

_Daryl was so busy staring at his father’s face, not quite sure what he was more amazed by, the unconventional wisdom or the fact his daddy had admitted to beating him for the first time in his whole life, that he didn’t notice his hand had slipped between his thighs, pressing down and palming him through his shorts._

_Daryl gasped and stood suddenly, knocking the cooler over and his daddy’s hand off him in the process. He backed up, tripping over the upturned cooler and stumbling, managing to keep his feet at the very last second and his eyes glued to the ground. His dad had never done that before. Never touched him before. His heart thrummed in his chest, blood pounding in his ears as he let himself drift away, getting ready to retreat into his mind in the face of whatever was going to come next._

_With a broken laugh, his dad threw himself back in his recliner, kicking his feet up and his sandals off. “Man, you shoulda seen the look on your face,” he chuckled, slowly building to uproarious laughter that had him slapping the arm of the chair, and Daryl ripped back into reality, standing in the middle of their living room with his hands out at his sides, watching his father wipe away tears of mirth from his eyes. “Though I must say,” his old man choked out, shaking his head with a smile that Daryl, not for the first time either, wanted to slap off his skeevy fucking face, “It’s too bad you weren’t born a girl, Darylina. Jesus H. Christ, do you ever look like your momma.”_

“Fuck,” Daryl moaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes with more force than necessary, breathing hard. He hated thinking of his old man in any respect, and he tried his best to keep memories of him far, far from his mind, but this day was just bringing it all to the surface.

And he hated admitting his daddy was ever right.

Daryl should never have stood up. He was fine, with no pressure and no responsibility, before Cas came into his life. He was living on the fringe of the group, a non-participant and sure it was lonely, but it was uncomplicated. Castiel had convinced him to try, to get to know the people he was living with and had allowed Daryl to know him as well, to love him. He’d filled his head with the notion he could be better, effective and valuable, and had him convinced he could be somebody important. He’d spurred him on to the point when Sophia went missing, Daryl jumped at the chance to find her. He wanted to be useful and important, and scouring the woods for a missing girl was something he knew he could do.

But Cas, he’d stopped believing she was alive long ago, as did the rest of the group. And it turned out they were right, and he’d just been a rube nearly getting himself killed looking for a girl who was long gone. He also had to go and fuck up rescuing Hershel, bringing the group more trouble than necessary, on top of all they already had to deal with. He had nothing now, and no drive to be better. All he had was a fear that he would lose the small place he’d carved for himself in the group, and that he’d be sent back to his life of ineptitude and seclusion.

He stood up straight, he put himself out there and he just got himself hammered right back into the ground.

Why the hell would he go and do it again?

Cursing, Daryl clambered to his feet and stalked off down the cow path, towards their tent. He hoped that Castiel had climbed down off his high horse by now, because it was his tent too, and he’d be damned if he was going to keep away just because Cas was in a mood.

Although Daryl recognized, with no small degree of concern, that Castiel had been in a mood quite a bit lately. Even before finding Sophia, the argument with Randall… he’d been a lot touchier than he normally was. It didn’t take much to push his buttons and despite him trying to put on a brave face, he was seemingly incapable of dealing with stress. But the most disquieting part, the one that Daryl mulled over as he walked, was that Castiel hadn’t been sleeping. At all.

They were both chronic insomniacs, and rarely got to sleep at a decent hour, but it had been months since Cas had been unable to sleep at all, and he hadn’t been that bad since he was first coming out of withdrawal. There had been times in the past week where Daryl would wake up in the middle of the night, and find Cas lying wide awake, silent and fuming with frustration. The lack of sleep did him no favours either, leaving him moody and miserable for the entirety of the next day. Daryl had tried to ask him about it, only to be brushed off and fawned over like _he_ was the one on the verge of a mental breakdown. And since Cas was undoubtedly Daryl’s greatest weakness, especially when he conned him with a sour pout and those big, blue eyes, he never got close to the truth.

It was worrisome though, he had to admit, and all his bluster conveniently left him by the time he stopped outside their tent. He’d woken last night to the worst of it, rolling over and finding Castiel with that stupid Stanford sweater on (he didn’t even go to Stanford, obviously; it was Sam’s, and it was two sizes too big), his hands jammed in his pocket as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent and sobbing silently. Daryl had only the gall to lay there for a moment, watching fat, angry tears roll down Cas’s cheeks, until Castiel clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a heart wrenching sob. Then he moved faster than he ever thought he could.

He’d collected Cas in his arms, pressing his face to his chest and Castiel didn’t waste a moment in processing what was going on. He burrowed into Daryl, face damp against his bare chest, and sobbed uncontrollably, the force of them wracking his thin shoulders (far too thin, when did he get so thin?). It took roughly an hour before Cas was calm enough to speak, exhausted and reduced to a whimpering puddle against Daryl’s chest, but eventually he pulled back and wiped his eyes. And when Daryl had asked him, brushing tear tracks from his cheeks, what the matter was, Castiel had looked up at him, anguished, and cried that he didn’t know.

And Daryl honestly believed him. Cas was still new to this, feelings sometimes still overwhelmed him, but Daryl was shaken by the fact that this seemed different. This horrible downswing he was on seemed much more sinister, darker, and couple that with the fact Cas had been carrying _something_ around in his pocket that he’d been incredibly evasive about? Daryl didn’t know what to make of it, but it couldn’t be good.

Sighing, and taking one last look at his battered knuckles, Daryl ducked into their tent, deciding to try and make amends (and ask for Cas’ help bandaging his hands), when he found their tent half empty, all of Cas’ belongings shoved to one side as Cas packed it into his duffel.

“Hey Cas,” Daryl said slowly, his stomach dropping so suddenly he swore he could hear it hit the floor, “what’re you doing?”

“Daryl, I—” Cas knelt there, hovering over his half packed bag, gaping for a moment as he tried to think up a way to excuse himself. He didn’t think long, however, Daryl’s barely reigned in anger proving that point moot, and instead sighed, saying, “If they kill Randall tonight, then I’m leaving.”

Cas may as well have sucker punched him in the gut, it felt the same either way.

And unfortunately, familiar.

_Daryl was thirteen years old when Merle first left home of his own volition. He’d turned twenty-one, decided he’d had more than enough of his dad’s shit, and had enlisted in the United States Armed Forces. He hadn’t told their father yet, and wasn’t planning on it either. Instead, when Daryl found him, Merle was packing his bag hastily while their daddy was off in the woods with some friends, drinking and shooting, so engrossed in getting out of there he didn’t even hear Daryl creep into their shared room._

_“Where are you goin’?” Daryl asked, hovering by the door with his hands jammed in his pockets, trying to look aloof, when on the inside he was terrified. Merle couldn’t be leaving, he thought to himself. It was impossible to get by without him at home, and his short stints in juvie were some of the worst periods of Daryl’s young life. He’d only been in once since their mom died, but Daryl couldn’t fathom the idea of being alone in their shitty cabin in the woods with their dad again_

_Merle started at the sound of his voice and turned, cursing when he saw Daryl jittering on his feet, looking a hairs breadth from bawling like a baby. He sucked his teeth and went back to work, balling up clothes and shoving them in his backpack, along with all his meagre belongings. “Away from here,” he spat, grabbing a few of his book and jamming them into the front pouches of his bag._

_“But where?” Daryl asked again, his voice quavering, “Are you coming back?”_

_“Not if I can help it,” Merle said, zipping up his bag and swinging it up onto his shoulder, “I enlisted. Here,” he fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket and held it out to Daryl, “if you need me, you can call here, alright?”_

_“You can’t go,” Daryl said, and he hated the hot tears that welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He angrily scrubbed them away, “You can’t leave me here alone.”_

_“You ain’t alone,” Merle snapped, thrusting the paper towards him again, “you got dad. Ain’t like he’d let you starve. Just keep your head down, go to school… you’re a smart kid, you’ll figure it out.”_

_“No,” Daryl sobbed, smacking the piece of paper out of Merle’s hands, “no, you can’t leave! You need to take me with you!”_

_Merle shook his head and laughed, but it was without humor, and he tried to walk past Daryl without another word. Daryl reached out and grabbed his bag, pulling it down Merle’s back and tugging his brother back into the room in the process. Merle, gasping as he was yanked backwards, reeled around and smacked Daryl across the face with an open palm._

_Letting go of the bag reflexively, clutching his stinging cheek, Daryl hunched down, ready to dodge any blows that followed. He kept his head down, chin to his chest and watched his brother’s feet for movement that never came. Instead, Merle dropped his bag to the floor with a sigh and grabbed Daryl’s face gently, with both hands, forcing him to look up at him._

_“Why can’t you just shut your trap for once and listen?” Merle asked, forcibly turning Daryl’s head to look at the cheek he struck, “Shit like this wouldn’t happen if you just quieted down and did what you’re told. And stop snivelling like a fucking girl.”_

_“He ain’t gonna hit you,” Merle said, stroking his thumb across Daryl’s sore cheek, frowning, “That’s my job. He ain’t never hit you before, he’s not gonna start now.”_

_“It ain’t bein’ hit I’m worried about,” Daryl said softly, and Merle let him go with a laugh._

_“Well then, you’re dumber than I thought you was._

_When that pulled a chuckle from Daryl, Merle smiled and picked up his bag, looping it over both arms and hitching it up his back. Daryl let him, there wasn’t any point in trying to stop him. Merle was a stubborn son of a bitch, at least that’s what their daddy called him, and for good reason. He never listened, he never backed down, and he never gave up. Instead, Daryl sat down on the edge of his bed and leaned forward on his knees, head in his hands._

_Merle stood there for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the next, not leaving but not quite staying either, before dropping to his knees in front of Daryl. “There ain’t nothin’ in this world worth dying for, little brother,” Merle said softly, both hands resting on Daryl’s shoulders, “so if you want to survive without ol’ Merle here to protect you? You got to stop thinking, and just start going with the flow. Do as your told, and don’t make waves. Life’s easier that way, anyhow.”_

_Daryl didn’t answer, and Merle only kissed his forehead, before patting him on the shoulder and walking towards the door. Daryl didn’t take his head out of his hands, and Merle didn’t say goodbye._

And here he was again. Stuck standing in a doorway while the one person he loved packed their bags and left, and he didn’t even do anything. He’d been doing what he needed to, he’d been going with the flow. Not making waves, and trying to submit to Rick’s authority, something his brother taught him so long ago. He might have forgot it for a time, but here he was, trying to fade into the background again, and he couldn’t understand why Cas was doing this.

How could he leave over some kid he didn’t even know?

Cas pushed his bag aside and reached for him, rising to his knees as he tried to grab Daryl’s hand, but he yanked it away the instant Castiel’s fingers touched his. Cas frowned, hovering there for a moment before sitting back on his heels with a sigh. “This isn’t to punish you Daryl, and I’m not leaving _you_ ,” Cas implored, flinching when Daryl scoffed, “but if I can’t change their minds, then I need to go. I can’t be a party to this, and if they can, then they’re not the people I though they were. I’m here as penance, remember? To make amends, find my absolution. How can I even begin to ask for forgiveness if I entertain the execution of an innocent? But that doesn’t mean I want to leave _you_.”

“Please,” Cas said, shoving his hand in his pocket and slumping his shoulders, looking so incredibly small in his oversized sweater, hunched in the corner of their half empty tent, “please, come with me. Stand up with me tonight, and if they still decide to murder Randall, then leave with me. We can go somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. They can make their bed and lie in it, we can leave and start over new. Together.”

“You’re absolutely insane, you know that?” Daryl said, shaking his head incredulously, “Why the hell would we _leave?_ Do you remember what it’s like out there?”

“I’m aware,” Cas said dryly, “I’ve been out there on my own before.”

“Exactly, which is why you must be out of your damn mind to want to go back!” Daryl roared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he stormed out of the tent. He stopped by the edge of their fire, breathing deeply, the stinging pain in his knuckles overshadowed by the pounding in his head, and the aching pangs of hurt that welled deep within his chest.

Cas followed behind him, placing his hand on Daryl’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort Daryl was only too quick to brush off. “We have a home here,” Daryl said, not turning to face him, “Safety in numbers, land, food and shelter. We’re in a good place, why the hell would you want to go back to barely skirting by on the road?”

“I remember once when you wanted to go off on our own,” Cas said in rebuttal, walking beside Daryl so he could look him in the eye, “so you must have thought at some point we could do it. And all those things, you’re right, they’re nice. They make the days easier, but what is the point if we have to sacrifice our integrity?”

“Integrity ain’t worth shit,” Daryl muttered, “and it’s not just comfort. Its living. What we did out on the road, that wasn’t life. That was survival.”

“I love you, Daryl,” Cas said, grabbing both of his hands in his and looking up at him imploringly, “and I’m not trying to leave you. I don’t _want_ to leave you, but I can’t…”

“If you loved me,” Daryl said, pulling his hands back, “you wouldn’t be choosing the life of some kid over me.”

“You don’t understand, it’s not just _some kid!_ ” Cas threw his hands up in frustration and stalked over to the tent, “It’s the principal. It’s what this murder will mean for this group, and it defines what they’ll allow. If they do this? They’re crossing the line that denotes murder is wrong, and there’s no going back from that.” He turned, with his hands jammed in his pockets and a look of stubborn ferocity that told Daryl he wasn’t winning this argument. Castiel’s mind was made up, and he said, “I promised myself I wouldn’t relinquish my power to someone else ever again… and Daryl, I will hold on to my freedom at all costs, even if it means I’m alone again. I cannot sacrifice the life of my soul for the comfort of my body.”

“Who says you even have a soul,” Daryl spat.

Cas looked like he’d physically stuck him, and Daryl felt like he might as well have.  

Castiel didn’t say anything more to him, and Daryl didn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he watched in silence as Cas ducked inside the tent, slinging his duffel over his shoulder before walking towards his car.

“Cas, wait,” Daryl called after him, but Castiel ignored him, walking down the cow path in careful, measured steps, his back turned to Daryl and his shoulders hunched against the wind. “Dammit, Cas, stop,” Daryl grabbed him by the elbow, and Cas spun on his heel, yanking his arm out of Daryl’s grasp and holding his hand up in warning, to which Daryl backed off and said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, I just—” he took a breath, “I need you. I love you, baby I can’t do this without you. I can’t lose you, too.”

Cas frowned at him, his jaw set tight and his stance firm. He stared at him, calculatingly, thinking deeply and an unsteady silence hung in the air between them, interrupted only by the howling of the wind. They stood like that for a long time, both unmoving, unwilling to budge, until Cas said, “You’re welcome to come, too.”

As Daryl watched him walk towards the Impala, he noticed his hand was back in his pocket.

* * *

 

The next time Daryl saw Cas was that evening, when the entire group, save Carl, Beth and Jimmy, were gathered in the Greene’s living room, waiting for Rick to start their discussion and set the tone.

Cas had arrived before Daryl, and was leaning up against the window on the far wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest and wearing his best bitchy pout. He was trying his hardest not to look over at Shane, who was tapping his foot, leaned up against the fireplace and mirroring Cas position. And unlike Castiel, Shane was staring right at him, eyes boring into Cas with laser focus. Daryl took a cue from Cas avoided looking right at Shane as well, though not for the same reasons.

(They’d since discovered that even though Daryl was the one to speak Mephistopheles name, Cas was the only one on his radar. Shane had been hovering around Cas ever since, constantly watching him… but Daryl wasn’t even a minor annoyance to him. Which they found increasingly off, because ever since the day at the barn, Daryl could _see_ Mephistopheles, wherever Shane went, hovering over his shoulder. He found it incredibly unnerving)

Cas looked up when Daryl walked in, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, before Cas ducked his head once more. Daryl sucked in a deep breath and pretended that didn’t sting like a bitch, and reminded himself he probably deserved it. It didn’t matter how hurt he was by Cas’ decision to leave, or how unfair he thought it was for him to come to the decision without ever talking to Daryl. He knew he was wrong to say what he did.

Standing behind Rick, Daryl leaned on his elbow against a small cabinet, taking a mental note of everyone in the room. It seemed he was the last to arrive, and as he scanned the rest of the group he noticed the only ones who looked like they wanted to be there were Dale, Cas and… well, Dale and Cas. The rest, like Shane, looked like this meeting was a waste of their time, or like Carol and Glenn, who looked like they’d rather be anywhere but gathered in Hershel’s gaudy living room. Daryl sighed… this was going to be an uphill battle for Dale and Cas.

Dale was desperate too. He’d spent the better part of the day talking to everyone in the group, even Daryl. That was how desperate he was, he even came asking for _Daryl’s_ help in his moral dilemma. As if he would side with him when even Castiel couldn’t sway him.

Lord knows he tried, though.

_Daryl had been in the middle of moving his tent further out, now that Cas’ shit was all gone and loaded into his car, when Dale came to talk to him. He couldn’t stand being in that place any longer, that plot of land near the dilapidated fireplace that they’d set up a home around, even if it was just tarp and mesh. And even though it was farther away from the house than anyone else’s, it was still too close._

_He’d fixed up his tent near the treeline, on the right side of the protective wire fence, and was sitting outside carving arrows when Dale approached._

_“The whole point of me coming up here is to get away from you people,” Daryl said, flicking his eyes up at Dale for a fraction of a second before getting back to work._

_“It’s going to take more than that,” said Dale, winded from the walk and wrapped up tight in his jacket, “what are you doing all the way out here anyways? Where’s Cas?”_

_“What, you think we’re attached at the hip or somethin’?” Daryl snapped, forcefully cutting off a chuck on the branch he was working on, “Climb down out of my ass, old man, Cas ain’t here.”_

_“Well, that’s alright… I actually came up here to talk to you.”_

_Daryl huffed and shook his head, “Didn’t peg you for a desperate son of a bitch.”_

_“Your opinion makes a difference.”_

_“Ain’t nobody lookin’ to me for nothin’.”_

_“Cas is… and I am. Right now, and you obviously— You have Rick's ear.” Dale stammered, hands out and palms up, “You cared about what happened to Sofia. Cared what it meant to the group… and you obviously care about the life of that boy. Why else did you bring him back here, when you could have saved yourself the trouble and killed him out on the road?”_

_“And torturing people?” Dale said, “That isn't you. You're a decent man. So is Rick. Shane—” Dale cut himself off and pursed his lips, “He's different.”_

_“Why, ‘cause he killed Otis?” Daryl asked, watching as Dale’s eyes widened in a sudden spark of understanding._

_“He tell you that?” Dale demanded._

_“He told some story, about how Otis covered him, saved his ass… and then he showed up with the dead guy's gun. Rick ain't stupid. If he didn't figure that out, it's 'cause he didn't wanna.” Daryl shook his head, and stood up with a sigh, dropping his ramshackle arrow into the pile with the others, “Besides, you have a problem with Shane killing Otis? You’re talking to another murderer, man. I just killed two guys in town, and you’re asking for my help?”_

_“You did what you had to keep Hershel and Glenn alive. To keep yourself alive.”_

_“And Shane did what he had to as well. You can’t tell me otherwise; you weren’t there and neither was I.” Daryl scoffed, running the back of his hand across his nose, which was damn near frozen from the chill, “You think he did it just for shits? Man, y’all have some messed up definitions of what’s right and wrong.”_

_“I can guarantee Otis wasn’t trying to kill Shane,” Dale said, “But those two men were trying to kill you. And Randall, he’s like Otis. He didn’t do anything, that’s what makes this so wrong.” He shook his head, frowning, “I can’t believe you won’t do anything. What does Cas say about all this?”_

_“He didn’t say much, other than he’s leaving after tonight.” Daryl didn’t know why he said that, what prompted him to tell Dale of all people that Cas was leaving him. He clamped his lips shut afterwards and turned away, hoping Dale hadn’t heard him, but he wasn’t that lucky._

_“What?” Dale asked, “Why? You’re not going with him?”_

_“He’s leaving because he ain’t willing to live without integrity,” Daryl spat, “and I ain’t willing to live on the road, just the two of us, never sleepin’ or restin’, never knowing if the next moments gonna be our last, just because his_ integrity _. If the life of some random kid is more important to him then everything and everyone here? Let him leave."_

_Daryl walked away in a huff, hands on his hips as he waited for Dale to say whatever he needed to so Daryl could tell him off. He was expecting sympathy, maybe pity or a firm kick in the ass, but what he didn’t expect was for Dale to take a deep breath, and say, “Well, good for him.”_

_“Excuse me?” Daryl asked, his words measured._

_“Good for him, for sticking to his convictions,” Dale clarified, shrugging his shoulders, “Sounds to me like you could go with him. You’re just choosing not to because you’re afraid.”_

_“Man!” Daryl walked right into Dale’s space, jabbing his fingers into the center of the old man’s chest as he said, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about! I ain’t afraid of nothin’, I just ain’t stupid! Going out there? It’s asinine, there’s nothing forcing him to leave but his own moral superiority. And his convictions? They ain’t shit.”_

_“I don’t think you believe that,” Dale said, not backing down or balking in the face of Daryl’s anger, “I think you’re smarter than that, hell, I know you are. You know the kind of life that awaits you out there, and I get it… it’s not an easy one. But you also know Cas is right.”_

_“There isn’t a single part of you that thinks Cas is stupid for wanting to be a good person, because that’s just… Cas.” Dale said, “He’s stubborn, and headstrong, and he holds on tight to what he believes in, even if its just that salt tastes like sea water, and not the other way around. But that’s what makes him who he is, and his more important convictions are what make him an honourable man. And I don’t believe you could love a person like that, if you didn’t share the same ideals.”_

_“I think you know that killing Randall is wrong,” Dale kept on talking, even as Daryl turned his back to him, “and—and I don’t think you believe Shane killing Otis is the same as you killing those two men. I also think you know that if this group goes through with this execution? We’re never going to be the same.”_

_“Cas is right to leave if this goes south,” he concluded, waving Daryl off and starting back down the path, “and you’d be smart to join him.”_

Shaking his head, Daryl pulled himself out of his reverie, watching as Rick scanned to see they were all in attendance. Now that Daryl was there, they could start, and Dale looked over at him with a grateful smile that Daryl tried to ignore. He wasn’t there for him, Daryl reminded himself, and he wasn’t there for Cas, either. He just figured, if his partner would be leaving him that night based on this verdict, he might as well be there to hear it first hand.

Rick called the meeting to order.

It went about as well as Daryl anticipated.

No one was buying it, and Castiel was silent as Dale pleaded with the group to do the right thing. They were scared, and they didn’t know this kid Randall. They were terrified of this mentioned group of thirty men, with their automatic weapons and their history of violence. Lori was scared for her children, as was Hershel and the rest of them feared losing the home they had only so recently found.

Dale tried to appeal to their humanity, but it was useless. They considered other options, but they couldn’t reach a consensus. Couldn’t keep Randall tied up forever, and Lori didn’t feel comfortable with giving him free run of the camp. Maggie asked if they could keep a guard on him, and Shane nixed that, saying nobody would take that detail, to which Rick agreed. It was when they started discussing the best way to kill him that Dale finally snapped, looking around the room in complete disbelief, hurt by the utter lack of compassion of those he lived with.

“You're talking about this like it's already decided!” Dale exclaimed.

“You've been talking all day, going around in circles.” Daryl said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the cabinet, “You just wanna go around in circles again?”

Castiel’s head snapped back at the sound of his voice, and he narrowed his eyes at Daryl from across the room. “This is a young man's life we’re talking about,” he growled, speaking up for the first time since the meeting started, “and it is worth more than a five-minute conversation!”

“Is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him and now look at us. He's been tortured. He's gonna be executed.” Dale said, his voice cracking wetly and looking on the verge of tears, “How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?”

Shane kicked off the wall, shaking his head with a laugh. “We all know what needs to be done,” he said, looking straight a Rick, that same daring look in his eye. _Try me_ , that look said, _you know I think I’m right._

“No, Dale is right.” Rick said, “We can't leave any stone unturned here. We have a responsibility—”

“So what's the other solution?” Shane snapped, “We haven't come up with a single viable option yet.”

“I wish we could.”

“So let's work on it!”

“Stop it!” Carol shouted, arms crossed defensively in front of her, “Just stop it. I'm sick of everybody arguing and fighting. I didn't ask for this. You can't ask us to decide something like this. Please decide— Either of you, both of you— But leave me out.”

“Not speaking out or killing him yourself—” Dale said, throwing his hands up in frustration, “There's no difference. “

“All right, that's enough.” Rick said, casting Dale a disgusted look, “Anybody who wants the floor before we make a final decision has the chance.”

Cas, who had been decidedly quiet throughout the whole exchange, stepped forward.

Shane scoffed, and walked out the front door.

“I know why you’re doing this.” Castiel started, shoving both hands into his pocket, “You’re afraid, and you have every reason to be. Before this you had law and order, you had police, a system of government, shelter and stability. And now? All of that’s gone, and you are forced to think and deal with things you’ve never had to face before in your life. Ugly, uncomfortable things that you would rather look away from… and I don’t blame you.”

He looked around the room at all the faces of his loved ones, now staring at him solemnly, and he said in earnest, “‘I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.’ Do you know who said that?”

“Nelson Mandela,” answered Dale.

Castiel nodded, “Yes, and a man named Ian Keller said it to me.” He smiled, a sad, small thing he sometimes wore when he spoke about people he’d lost, and said, “He was an engineering officer for Company B, the soldiers that lived with us at Chitaqua, and he taught me to love reading. He taught me that everything inside of a book, no matter how small or mundane it might seem, is a lesson. He was my closest friend.”

“Dean was the de-facto leader, right off the bat when we arrived in Chitaqua, but he had other priorities. He couldn’t handle everything at once, and all the responsibility that came with running a camp full of survivors was pulling him away from his main goal.” Castiel bit his lip, looking up at Daryl before rattling whatever was so important in his pocket, centering himself, “So, when people started to get scared, they went to Dean demanding help. He gave them it… by electing Captain Porter, and the surviving soldiers of Company B to call the shots.”

“I was complacent in it, too. At first, we all were,” Cas said, and Daryl watched as a Rick’s shoulders tightened, and he stood a little straighter, “Here were these military men, symbols of authority in your old world, offering to call the shots. To tell us what was best, and to make the hard decisions no one else wanted to. And it was good for a while. We had food, water, safety and shelter. We could go about our lives in basic comfort and we never truly had to acknowledge what living in a world without order meant."

“There were a few people who started complaining, asking question and objecting when they saw injustice. And we started to look away when those people went missing… disappeared from their bunks in the morning with their shit gone and a note saying they left. And we ignored it when we’d see someone in Company B walking around in that missing person’s shoes, or jacket, or listening to their IPod. We stopped talking back when they started breaking noses, and cutting off fingers and toes to prove a point. And we stopped asking for justice when they hurt us, because we knew that it would never come."

“Cas,” Rick interjected, “this is just one man we’re talking about, it wouldn’t come to that—”

“Ian used to say to me,” Cas interjected, holding up a hand and Rick shut his mouth, watching him pensively, “He used to say, ‘Castiel, don’t let them take your integrity. You’re a good person, and you know the difference between right and wrong.’”

Castiel paused, taking a deep, centering breath, and Daryl recognized the way his fingers hand slipped out of his pocket, and now tapped rhythmically against his thigh. He’s trying to stave off a panic attack, he realized with a start, and his muscles burned with a need to help him. Daryl was furious with him, but seeing him hurting, it seemed that none of that mattered. All he wanted to do was go to him, and whether that was a weakness or not, he couldn’t say.

But Daryl knew he couldn’t. Cas was working up to something, and by the look on his face, it was something serious. Words he didn’t let out into the world lightly, and Daryl knew if he interrupted him, even with the best of intentions, it wouldn’t be met with gratefulness and thanks. Cas needed to do this, and he needed to do it alone.

So, he leaned back and listened as Castiel said softly, “There was another man in camp… his name was Jason.”

And Daryl continued to stand there, arms crossed over his chest and fingers clenched in his biceps, willing himself to stay quiet and still.

“I offered him something he couldn’t accept as it was given, something he had to take from me instead.” Cas muttered, ducking his head and digging his fingers into his thighs, “He hurt me, badly, and he didn’t try to deny it. But Jason was a soldier, Company B, and a part of their brotherhood. They rallied around him, and there was nothing anyone could do. He was allowed free reign of the camp, and for ‘my own protection’, I was sequestered to my cabin... where he could still come to visit me, whenever he wished.”

“Oh my god,” Lori whimpered, and she looked like she was going to be sick. Staring up at Cas from her place on the couch, there was no doubt in Daryl’s mind that she was fitting the pieces together. She’d known what had happened to Cas; he’d told Daryl that at the C.D.C., after Shane attacked her, Cas let it slip. But not the details, only Daryl know that. At least, until that moment.

She was crying silently, and Daryl knew that she understood.

“Except Ian…” Cas continued, “he wouldn’t stand for it. And one day, when he and Jason went on a run, only Ian came home. He said Jason was killed by a Croat, and I thought for sure they were going to kill him. But they didn’t, not until three months later.” Castiel sighed, running his hand up and down his chest, no longer looking at anyone else in the room, and he said, “Ian was the only one to give me justice, and he was murdered for it. He was taken from our cabin, sometime in the night, and I woke up to screaming in the yard the next morning. When I went out, he was hanging from a noose, beaten, bloody and long dead, with a sign around his neck that read ‘insurrectionist.’ Our other friend, Sasha? He left that night without a word, and that’s when I knew… Ian was right all along.”

“He used to tell me, sometimes late at night, that the inevitable outcome of our camp? Was oppression and totalitarianism. I used to think he was overreacting, but he was adamant. And he was right. In this world, with no government and no laws to abide by? We choose what is right, and what is wrong, by the power of our actions, or… our inaction. And that shapes the way we live our lives. We _chose_ to listen to these people, to give them everything we had, our _power_ … and with that, we decided that injustice, murder? All these things we _knew_ were intrinsically wrong, were now okay.”

“I let that happen. We all did, with one simple decision. We decided that we were too afraid to think for ourselves, and that we valued the life of our bodies over the life of our principals. And if you kill Randall? You are making that very same decision dressed up in a different context, and it is one you can never come back from.”

The fire in his voice was back as Castiel stepped forwards once more, fists clenched at his sides as he looked at every person in the room. “You’re scared, and you’re right to be scared,” he said, “But ‘courage is not the absence of fear,’ it is ‘the triumph over it.’ Be afraid, but overcome it. Be terrified, and grow because of it.” His eyes were wild, wide open and pleading as he begged, “Use your fear and look past it, because you are going to change either way… and its up to you if that change is into something ugly. This is murder, it’s an execution, and in saying this is permissible, you are saying there is no line. There is no society, save for the one where the strongest rule, and guess what? You can’t all be the strongest. But right now,” Castiel gesture to the ground with a pointed finger, “you have power, integrity, and you can choose to use it. I forgot it for a time, but when they killed Ian, I knew that it was the most important thing I had left. It was the only thing worth fighting for. And the choice you are making in this room is shaping the kind of world you want to live in. The kind of people you want to be.”

“But Cas,” Glenn said, turning in his seat on the couch to look him in the eye, “What does any of this matter if we’re dead?”

“That’s the point,” Cas said, “Safety at all costs, or danger with freewill. Its one or the other, you can’t have both. Its up to you to decide which is more important.”

Rick stepped forward, mouth open, ready to ask for a show of hands, when Castiel cleared his throat and threw him an apologetic look. “I just wanted to say one more thing,” Cas said, taking a deep breath, and decreeing that, “If you do kill this boy, I will leave.”

“No,” Lori said, standing up from the couch and walking up to him, resting her hands on his shoulders. There were still tears in her eyes, “You can’t. Cas, you can’t just _leave_ because we don’t _agree_ with you!”

Cas shook his head, his expression crumpling as he gently pushed her hands off his shoulders. “I promised myself when I left that place that I would never look away in the face of corruption and injustice ever again. Because that is not the world I want to live in, and if you execute Randall, you aren’t the kind people I want to live with,” Cas said, and Lori choked on a sob, sitting back down on the couch with her head in her hands, “Which really, truly sucks, because I _chose_ you.”

Daryl’s head shot up, eyes focusing on Cas instead of the mint green carpet.

Oh no, he thought.

“I chose all of you, and I lost so much because I thought you were better than us!” Cas spat, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve and scoffing, working himself up. He was going to say something he shouldn’t, Daryl realized, and he wouldn’t even know it until it was too late.

“But time and time again, you keep letting me down,” he said, and Daryl pushed passed a very perplexed Rick and Dale to get to Cas’ side, “You keep showing me that humans—”

“Cas,” Daryl said, reaching out and grabbing both of his wrists, pulling them to his chest and diverting Cas’ attention to him, “stop.”

Castiel was holding it in as best he could, but he was a mess. He was frustrated, furious and hurt, not understanding how these people, this _species_ he’d chosen to love above his own could be so heartless. He couldn’t make them understand that all they were doing was reacting out of fear, and Daryl could feel his frustration in the tremble of his hands, could see it in his upturned eyes and his quivering lower lip as he looked at Daryl pleadingly.

Everything he’d sacrificed, and everything he’d lost…

It would have all been for nothing, if no one in this room stood with him.

He would have fallen for nothing.

Castiel was right, Daryl realized with a start, and without a care for the multitude of people in the room he pulled Cas into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders and burying Cas’ head in the curve of his neck.

He was right, and Daryl had known it all along.

His dad had conditioned him, fought him tooth and nail until he learned how to listen, how to turn off his brain and just do what he was told. He was taught to not make decisions for himself, to look the other way, because if he didn’t, people got hurt. But he always knew right from wrong.

And when his dad died, he made a promise to himself that he would never allow himself to be taken advantage of like that again. That he was his own damn person, and that when he knew something was wrong, he wouldn’t just look away and let it happen. He would fight against it tooth and nail, and stand up for what was right. He was finally free.

But then he fell back into it, the same old song and dance with Merle. He traded one cage for another when his brother came home to stay with him, and Daryl followed him because he thought that was what true freedom was like. He didn’t know any better, because Merle’s cage had a door, but it was one that opened into another, bigger cage. Daryl was given the illusion of free will… but he never truly had it. He did what he was told, like he always did, but this time it was because following his brother was easier than facing reality. Than accepting he’d lived his life in prison, and had no idea how to live as a free man.

Cas had taught him what real freedom was. He’d come into his life and treated him like an equal, someone worthy of his love and respect. He’d allowed Daryl to speak his mind and be his own person for the first time, to decide for himself the life he wanted to live, and Daryl had tasted true freedom at last. He wasn’t a hammer, and he weren’t no nail, either. He was a goddamned person, and he wanted to be a _good_ person. Not a piece of shit like his father, not a pig-headed follower like his brother. He wanted to be the kind of person worthy of a man like Castiel, a man of principal and… integrity.

Now though, he thought to himself as he looked at the faced scattered across the room, his chin resting atop Cas’ head as he held him close… now he was losing himself again. And once more, it was because he was afraid. He wasn’t afraid of getting other people hurt, he wasn’t afraid of freedom… he was afraid of rejection. He had been so caught up in what this group thought of him, in needing to make sure he fit, that he’d been sacrificing himself. He’d put the man he aspired to be to the wayside, and became the pawn he was raised to be all over again.

He’d done exactly what he said he’d never do... again.

Letting Cas go, Daryl looked him in the eyes as he took his hand, looping their hands together before turning to the rest of the room and saying, “Cas is right. This is fucked up, and if y’all think to go through with it? Then I’m leaving too.”

It was more than worth it, and his immediate reward came as Castiel beamed proudly at him, overjoyed, and Daryl squeezed his hand in return, mouthing a silent apology.

“Me too,” Dale said, and both Cas and Daryl jumped at the sound of his voice. He walked over to the two of them, nodding at them solemnly, before resting his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and declaring, “If Randall dies, I’ll leave with them.”

“And me,” Carol said meekly, stepping away from the wall, no longer hunched in on herself as she crossed the floor, standing at Cas’ side and taking his free hand in both of hers. Rick cast her a pleading glance, and Lori sniffled from the couch, and she shrugged, saying, “They’re right. I can’t just turn a blind eye… and I can’t bury my head in the sand. I spent years of my marriage hoping someone would stand up for me, would call Ed out and help me, but no one ever did. I can’t just be a bystander and hope to sleep at night.”

Rick stood in stunned silence, glancing around the room, not knowing how to proceed. He stammered and shook his head, “I guess it’s time to vote, then… so, I all those in favor, please raise your hands.”

Every hand in the room went up, save for the four standing together in front of the fire place.

“It’s decided then,” Rick said.

Lori’s stifled sobs were his only response.

* * *

 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Cas said to Daryl as they packed up their whole lives into the trunk of the Impala. It was late, almost midnight, and while Rick had suggested to them they not leave until morning, Castiel had been adamant. He didn’t want to be on the property when they shot Randall, and Rick had decided that they had to do it that very night.

“For what?” Daryl asked with a teasing smile, shutting the trunk and looping an arm around Cas’ shoulders.

“For being the best humanity has to offer,” Castiel said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “and for standing up for what’s right.”

“I learned from the best,” Daryl said softly, parting with Castiel as they slid into their respective seats, Daryl kicking his feet up on the dash and Cas behind the wheel. He pulled a weather beaten old map out of the glove box, flattening it out as best he could across his legs and squinting at it in the dim dome light. “So, where are we going?” he asked.

“Wherever we want,” Cas said, a cigarette dangling between his lips as he cracked the window, “Where would you like to go?”

Biting his lip, Daryl was suddenly overwhelmed with possibility. There was nothing stopping them, he realized. No money or time constraints, no border guards and police checks. No speed limits, no laws and no one to tell them where they could and couldn’t go. Just the two of them, their wits, their car and the freedom of the open road.

He turned to Cas, and said with a smile, “Nunavut.”

“Canada?” Cas sputtered, choking on smoke as he chuckled, “Why Canada? And… why Nunavut, for that matter?”

Daryl shrugged. “Low population density, so unless walkers migrate, there’d be less of them up there. Plus, the cold and the snow are likely to slow them down,” he said, plotting out their route on the map and tracing it with his finger to show Cas, “We could find a cabin somewhere, near water so we could fish, hunt… maybe overtime we could build a greenhouse? Plus, its beautiful… and I’ve never seen the Northern Lights.”

Castiel smiled fondly. “Nunavut it is, then,” he said, turning the key in the ignition, “We’re going to need winter coats though, and warmer clothes—”

They both jumped out of their skin when a sickening cry echoed across the field.

Cas turned to Daryl, both hands on the wheel and a smoldering cigarette hanging from his lips as he asked, “Was that Dale?”

Reaching across the seat, Daryl killed the engine.


	28. A Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope this one stands up just as well :) We're really getting into the meat and potatoes of it, and these next few chapters are going to speed through, so I hope you like them.
> 
> It's always great to hear from you, and any newcomers, welcome to this odd little brainchild of mine, that has seemingly spun out of control ;)

“I think if we take him up past Senoia, and leave him here along the I-85, that would give him the best shot. Plenty of cars along the highway, and it was less packed going north than coming south.”

Daryl nodded as Rick spoke, staring down at the map stretched out across the table in front of them, his thumbnail caught between his teeth. He watched as Rick traced their route along the I-85, passed where they picked Randall up and halfway towards Atlanta. It was going to be a long trip, he thought as he leaned against the porch railing. Cas wasn’t going to be happy about that, but he’d live. At least it meant Randall wasn’t about to be killed, and they didn’t have to leave.

Their ill-fated departure had been bitter sweet.

Starting to warm up to the idea of escaping to northern Canada, Daryl and Cas had been ready to take off when they heard a shout from one of the fields, and in a moment of selfish weakness, Daryl considered telling Cas to just drive. They were ready to go, and no matter what, there would always be something trying to pull them back. He thought maybe it was Randall, freaking out because they were stupid enough to let him know what they were going to do with him. But as the shouting kept on going, getting more and more harried by the moment, he knew it couldn’t be the case.

It was Dale, and they’d discovered him absolutely immolated by a half-rotted bag of bones in one of Hershel’s south fields. They dispatched the walker quick enough, but there was nothing to be done for him after. His guts had been torn from him, and he was dying slowly, in agony. Rick had tried to put a bullet in him, put him out of his misery at Andrea’s tearful behest, but he couldn’t stomach it. And seeing Dale lying there, writhing in pain, unable to speak? Daryl couldn’t let it go on any longer than he had to.

That had been just over ten hours ago, and since then Rick had come to a sudden conclusion that Castiel and Dale were right all along. As they lay Dale to rest that morning, he’d announced, much to Shane’s chagrin, that they were reverting to their original plan. They weren’t going to kill Randall, and instead he and Daryl were going to drive him off past Senoia and cut him loose.

“Hey, man,” Rick said, half sitting on the table with his arms crossed in front of him, staring down at the wood beneath his feet, “what you did last night, for Dale, I—”

“Ain’t nothing,” Daryl said, spitting a sliver of his nail off the side of the porch.

“No, it’s not nothing.” Rick admonished, shaking his head as he looked up at Daryl incredulously, “It was brave, and something that I couldn’t do. So, thank you. Sincerely, to you and Cas. Lord knows where we’d be if we didn’t have the two of you around cleaning up our messes.”

“What are you talking about,” Daryl asked, eyebrow raised, “I’m the one who brought the dumb kid back here, this wasn’t your mess to begin with. You shouldn’t be thanking me, I was the one who caused all this shit in the first place… of course I’d do what I could to fix it.”

“Except you were just going to leave.” Holding up his hands in mock defense the minute the words left his mouth, Rick apologized, “I didn’t mean it like that. Cas explained it well enough for the both of you, and hell, y’all were right about that too, it’s just—I thought I was making the right call.”

Daryl stayed silent, staring at Rick with heavy eyes, darkened with the exhaustion of a stressful, sleepless night. “Cas keeps telling me,” Rick said, “that I have to do what feels right, even if its not logical. Even if it might put us, all of us, in harms way. And I knew, man, I _knew_ killing that kid wasn’t right but—” he huffed, running a hand over his mouth, “How can I do the right thing, if it means one of our people might die? If it puts all of us in danger? How can I do that?”

“And I thought, either Cas doesn’t understand where I’m coming from, or I don’t get what he really means, that there’s a disconnect there,” Rick said, “I knew I was making the wrong call, but I couldn’t willfully ignore the fact that we wouldn’t be safe if Randall was out there. I know now, though, after Dale…”

“There’s no way _to_ be safe, not really,” Daryl finished for him with a shrug, and Rick nodded solemnly, “that’s just the world we live in now. We’re always gonna be in danger, its just a matter of mitigating what we can.”

“And I thought that was what I was doing,” Rick admitted softly, “making the best of a bad situation. I don’t blame you for bringing Randall back, I probably would have done the same if I were in your shoes, but I thought that killing him was the only viable solution, even if it felt wrong. And I couldn’t understand why Cas would think morality was more important than our _lives_.”

“But I think I do now,” he sighed, hopping up and sitting on the table, next to where Daryl was leaning, “I saw it in Carl last night. My boy, he wanted to watch me kill that kid. He was happy for it, he thought it was a good thing we were doing, that in killing Randall I was being the good guy, the hero. And I realized then, too little too late, _that_ was what Cas was trying to tell me all along. It’s not just about staying alive… it’s choosing a life worth living. And a world where we can justify killing a person just because we can’t decide what to do with him, is not a world I want my children living in.”

They both sat silently, the windchimes by the door tinkling gently, cutting through the hazy drone of voices inside the house. Daryl watched absently through the curtains, silhouettes of people setting up sleeping spots in the living room. He heard Maggie’s southern drawl over the ruckus, and Glenn’s answering murmur. He could pick up Cas’ soothing baritone, and Lori’s girlish laugh. He could see them moving about, carving out space for all fourteen of them in Hershel’s old farmhouse, and he couldn’t fault Rick, not even for a moment, for wanting to do everything he possibly could to protect them.

“I didn’t want to listen to Cas either,” Daryl said finally, breaking their silence, “when he first told me he was going to leave. I thought he was being his usual self, you know? Pushy, holier-than-thou, over dramatic… but I forget sometimes that he’s been through and seen more shit than any of us. And he’s smart. He might not always be right, but when he sticks to his guns on something, you know its worth listening to him, at least.”

“And I think, when he tells you to go with your gut, and do what feel right, he’s not assuming you need to do it all on your own.” Rick jolted, looking over his shoulder at Daryl who continued to gnaw on his thumbnail even as he spoke, “Cas isn’t stupid, and he ain’t selfish neither. I think, in his own way, he was trying to offer to help you. We both see that you’re trying—we all do. But you got so much on your plate, that its no wonder you can’t see clear enough to make the right call. So, what I did last night? For Dale? I can do it again. And Cas can too… ain’t no reason you need to do all the heavy lifting.”

“So, you’re both staying, then?” Rick asked softly, his fingers digging into the soft wood of the table.

“You still planning on killing Randall?”

“You know I’m not,” Rick said with a frown, “We’re literally planning to take him out to—”

Daryl cut him off, “Then we ain’t going anywhere.”

Rick smiled at that, lips curling upwards as he kicked off of the table, drawing his attention back to the map. “Good,” he said, running his fingers along the crinkled surface, “I think I could use all the help I could get.”

Daryl nodded, and was about to ask when they were setting off when he heard a car door slam down the drive, watching as Rick’s expression fell. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was Shane walking up the path towards them.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, Daryl stood up straight and tried his hardest to keep Shane out of his line of sight. Rick must have been giving him an odd look, and Daryl knew he was acting conspicuous, but he couldn’t bear to look at Shane any more than he had to. And even then, with his eyes to the floor, whenever Shane stepped closer, Daryl could see dark, wispy tendrils of black miasma wafting up from the ground where he stood.

It had only gotten worse as the days wound on, and since the incident at the barn, Daryl could now perpetually see the creature haunting Shane as it hung over his shoulders. He never once mentioned it to Cas, knowing their plan of attack at the moment was to “wait and see,” and also knowing that if Castiel knew the extent of this demon’s influence, he wouldn’t be willing to bide his time any longer. That was unacceptable to Daryl; as much as he wanted to get Shane out from under this demon’s thumb, they had no idea how to go about it, and the last time they went into a supernatural situation half cocked and without all the information, Daryl had wound up dead.

That didn’t mean it was easy to keep hidden though. Daryl tried to keep Shane out of sight, but even when he wasn’t looking at Mephistopheles, he could still hear him. Whenever Shane was nearby, there was a constant, otherworldly whispering, one that sounded similar to Castiel’s true voice, but not at all the same. While Cas’ true voice was grand and booming, a plethora of voices all singing together in perfect harmony, Mephistopheles voice was a single sound that rippled discordantly around its muttered words. It hung in the recesses of Daryl’s mind, wavering and deep, and whenever he felt bold enough to try to listen, it pulled away from him, like an image in your periphery that fled as you attempted to look at it. It was nothing short of maddening.

So even then, with his eyes to the ground, there was that familiar, steady, droning voice in Daryl’s head that he couldn’t listen to, but also couldn’t block out. He could hear Shane speaking to him, requesting in his own tangible, human voice if he could speak with Rick alone, and he could hear Rick tell him it was alright, that he could leave… but underneath it all, there was a wavering, undulating murmur he couldn’t ignore. A distracting, hateful sound that thrummed through his mind and sent chills down his spine, even as he walked away and into the house.

Standing in the doorway, his hand still on the knob and the door wide open, Daryl refused to look behind him. He would walk inside, close the door and go find Cas, he told himself. He ignored the voice in his head, and the sneaking, ugly desire to turn and look at the creature that hovered over Shane’s head like the sword of Damocles, and told himself to find Castiel, to help him unpack and to spend time with him. To be near him and feel him, real and tangible and _good_ , so he could forget the horrible crawling feeling of otherworldly eyes upon his back.

He was about to close the door when he heard it.

“Ego sum vigilantes, vos filius satanas.”

Daryl heard a choked sound, like someone gagging on air, and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from him. The voice in his head was the same one that whispered to him monotonously, but for the first time since the barn, he could hear it plainly. Ego sum vigilantes, vos filius satanas… he could pick out every word, even if he didn’t understand it. And he didn’t need to turn to know Mephistopheles was staring at him, or that the words were ones he was meant to hear.

He smelled smoke.

His hand clenched around the door knob, knuckles white as he held on with an iron grip, he sniffed once, then twice, before finally relinquishing his hold. He turned slowly, shuffling in place as his breathing quickened, exhaling in sharp, stilted puffs, terrified to see what was behind him but knowing it wouldn’t pass unless he did. And when he finally turned and raised his eyes, Shane and Rick were gone. The porch he had been standing on was gone, and the walls of the house around him had crumbled. There was only one structure on the farm that was still standing was the barn, and by the look of things, it wasn’t going to stay that way for long.

Once again, the barn in his vision was burning.

With a sharp gasp, Daryl stepped forwards, catapulting onto the ground and barely keeping his footing as he landed in the space where the porch once stood. He could feel the heat from the fire, even all the way across the field, and all he could smell was burning hay and cooking meat.

The farm was desolate, no cars or people to be seen. It looked as if it had been abandoned, like they had all packed their shit and ran, leaving only behind crops to rot in the fields. The barn was a brilliant display of crackling flames and whirling smoke, the bright orange glow folding into the dark red sky above, and in the window on the front of the barn, Daryl could see the unmistakable shape of a man.

He was tall, having to bend down and hold himself in the frame of the window to see out of it. His long brown hair whipped across his face as the smoke and fire blasted heat filled air up from between the floor boards, and his starched white suit was peppered with ash and smudged with charcoal. His lips were moving, his eyes fixed on Daryl and he could pick up the barest hint of his voice across the field… but try as he might, Daryl couldn’t manage to hear what he was saying.

The man in the barn watched him curiously, seemingly unperturbed by the flames licking at his heels and singing his suit, his sharp eyes glowing green in the light of the fire. He looked familiar, but Daryl couldn’t place his face, and his voice was one Daryl hadn’t heard before. He felt like he had seen him in passing, in a photo or in a dream, but never met him in his waking life. He’d never known him, but he knew his face.

Daryl strained to hear what he was saying over the roar of the flames, squinting his eyes and stepping into the wall of heat. The closer he got, the clearer the man’s voice became, and though his skin dappled with sweat, and his lungs creaked around the thick, black smoke of the burning barn, Daryl kept walking. He kept up his slow, steady approach, until finally he could make out the features of the man’s face, from his angular cheeks and strong jaw, to his towering frame and gleaming hazel eyes. And though he had never met him before in his life, Daryl had certainly heard stories of this man. He’d read his writing night after night in old books of supernatural lore, had studied hastily written additions to John’s journal in this man’s loping handwriting, and though Daryl had never spoken with him, or seen him in person, he knew his face from picture’s Castiel had shown him.

Daryl got as close as he possibly could, flames lashing at his cheeks and scorching his skin as he stopped just before the blown open barn doors and gazed upwards. The white suit was new, but there was no doubt in Daryl’s mind… with only a scant fifteen feet between them, Sam Winchester stared down at him from the window of the barn, and said, “Awake, arise or be forever fallen.”

Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, Daryl sucked in a deep breath, tainted with ash and wood smoke, and he could feel the fire singeing the hair from his arms. It reached out to him, coiled around him as Sam’s voice drifted downwards, speaking in familiar riddles, and Daryl willed it to stop. “This isn’t real,” he whispered brokenly, keeping his eyes tightly shut, ignoring the burning of his skin and the screaming of his lungs, “it’s all in your head. Sam’s dead.”

Two large, strong hands wrapped around his wrists, and with a start Daryl pulled his head from his hands, expecting the fire to be gone and the world to be righted. Instead, it was blocked by Sam’s towering form, his hands gripping Daryl tightly as he smiled at him, a simmering hatred brewing just below the surface of his saccharine expression. “Sam may be dead,” Sam said softly, and Daryl couldn’t tear his eyes away, “and this _is_ all in your head, but make no mistake Daryl Dixon…” he stepped closed, letting go of Daryl’s wrists, letting them fall limply to his sides as he stood motionless, stuck to the spot as he stared up at Sam, unable think much less move, “ _I’m_ still here.”

He opened his mouth to ask who he was, and why he was wearing Sam’s face, but the words never came. Instead, Daryl found he couldn’t breath, much less speak, and the creature inside of Sam grasped his chin in one hand, tilting his head back as Daryl gasped for breath, and said, “Remember that the places you see, and the things that are shown to you, are glimpsed through a window. And those windows work both ways.”

There was a bright burst of light behind his eyes, and Daryl cried out in pain as he snapped them shut, pulling backwards so violently that he wrenched himself from Sam’s hold, falling squarely onto his back on the ground below. He heard a screech, a loud, crackling scream that shuddered his eardrums and turned his gut, but it was only there a moment. And when it left, so did the heat and smoke. He could breath again, and he greedily filled his lungs with fresh, clean air. Sprawled out on the ground, Daryl cracked open his eyes, and there was no Sam Winchester. No fire. The sky was the right color, and with a sigh of relief he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it right there on the ground, his hands trembling as he lay there in the dirt, absently smoking.

He needed to talk to Cas.

* * *

 

Castiel grumbled under his breath as he struggled to stretch Daryl’s sleeping bag flat across their mattress, frowning as it continued to roll up at the corners. Hershel had agreed, at Maggie’s insistence, to move them all into the house that morning. It was a gesture of solidarity, as much as it was the logical choice; with all ten of them out there on the lawn, and fifty head of cattle on the farm and winter fast approaching, they were a living, breathing walker magnet, drawing hordes of them straight towards the farmhouse.

Daryl had been livid, adamantly opposed to the idea of bunking in a single room with the rest of the group, and Cas had reluctantly agreed with him. While he had made great strides, Daryl was still uncomfortable being around Castiel when they were in the open. He could sometimes manage to grasp his hand, or stand there sullenly and accept that yes, Cas was going to kiss him, and yes, someone could see, but it took its toll, exhausting him. He was a private person by nature, shy and reserved around others, and not having somewhere to retreat to on his own was nothing short of torturous.

So, knowing they were no longer leaving, Castiel had taken some… initiative, on Daryl’s behalf. He’d politely ( _imposingly_ ) took Hershel aside ( _cornered him in the stables_ ) and asked him for ( _told him they needed_ ) a private room. It took some convincing ( _coercing_ ), and while Hershel was hesitant ( _confused_ ) at first, he eventually agreed ( _relented_ ) to giving Cas and Daryl the loft on the top floor, which had been his late wife’s sewing room. It was small, but had enough natural light and was insulated, so they wouldn’t freeze in the winter. Plus, it was secluded from the rest of the house, with only a single door leading up to it at the top of a tall, hidden staircase. Castiel had agreed that it was the perfect place for them and, giving himself a pat on the back for being so persuasive, he immediately got to work setting them up in their new living quarters.

He left most of their belongings in the car, only bringing the essentials (bedding, clothes and books), but now Castiel was stumped. He needed another set of hands, he concluded, as he watched the sleeping bag roll listlessly from the corners, and Daryl would be out with Rick for a while longer. He was about to give up when he heard footsteps on the stairs, and the door squeaking on its hinges, before Lori knelt down beside him.

She looked around the room, a bemused expression on her face as she asked, “How did you manage to score the private suite?”

Castiel smiled, sitting back on his heels with his hands in the pocket of Sam’s old Stanford hoodie, and said, “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

“Yeah? Well T is _pissed._ ” Lori said with a laugh, shaking her head and giving his shoulder a half-hearted shove, “You and Daryl get to cozy it up in the loft, Rick and I get the master bed, while the rest of them slum it on the living room floor? He’s livid.”

“Hey, we can sleep down there with the rest of them,” Cas said, shrugging his shoulders, “if it would make T feel better. Just so long as he knows I’m not shy, _and_ I’m a screamer.”

“We _all_ know that,” Lori bemoaned, and Castiel barked out a laugh, crumpling sideways as he hid his face in his hands. “It’s fine,” she said, chuckling along with him and settling more comfortably on the floor, her legs crossed in front of her and leaning back on her palms, “I’m sure after one night with the two of you up here, T will be thanking his lucky starts you ‘persuaded’ Hershel to give you a private room. And besides—” she tapped him with her toe, “I know you were only thinking of Daryl.”

Nodding, Castiel reached deeper into his pocket, grasping for the small bottle he’d been keeping in it. He held it tightly in one balled up fist, popping the lid off and on with his thumb absentmindedly, as he stared down at his uncooperative mattress. “Does this mean you’re staying for good, then?” Lori asked hesitantly, and Cas inwardly cringed at the hurt in her voice.

“Yes,” he said, turning to face her completely and relinquishing the bottle as he reached out and grabbed her hand, “and I’m so sorry.” She huffed and looked away, and Castiel pressed on, “I am, I never meant to hurt your feelings. I just… I couldn’t stay, if meant I would be condoning murder. I—”

“I understand.” Lori said, twisting her hand in his grasp and lacing their fingers together, giving a tight squeeze. She tried to smile at him, but it fell flat, and she shook her head, “No, actually, I don’t understand at all.”

“I can get why you had to pull away, to show that you refused to participate, but I don’t understand how you could willingly go back out there and leave us behind.” Her voice cracked, and Castiel’s heart sank as he saw she was starting to cry, and he twisted the bottle in his pocket with one hand, before pulling her closer with the other. Lori rested her head on his shoulder, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around her, and she mumbled into his sweater, “You’re our family, Cas. And I thought you thought so, too.”

“That’s not fair, Lor, you know I do,” Cas said, resting his on the top of her head, “I love you all. But I’ve already done so much bad in my life, actively and passively, and I need to make amends. And the only way for me to do that this time was to leave. I didn’t want to… I had to.”

“You know, I’ve always been against the death penalty,” Lori said, “and I knew that killing Randall would be wrong, but I didn’t care. All I could think about were my kids, and keeping them safe at all cost.” She sat up straight, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand and chuckled mirthlessly, “I need you here. You’re my conscience.”

“I’m just so afraid,” she admitted when the silence persisted, and Castiel rolled the bottle of pills in his hand, running his thumb along the grooves in the lid, “When Sophia died, I thought, ‘You know, this is horrible, but we’ll bounce back.’ But after Dale?” Lori shook her head, “There is no going back. This is just how our lives are now.” Looking up, she brushed her hair from her eyes and asked Cas, imploringly, “Is this the end of days?”

Castiel gripped the bottled firmly, and didn’t say a word.

“Great,” she scoffed, tears that had been hovering on the precipice finally falling, rolling down her cheeks, “I’m having a baby in the freaking apocalypse.” Her head in her hands, Lori made a softly braying sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Cas shifted even closer, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. She breathed deeply, composing herself before muttering into her palms, “I’m so stupid… what kind of life is this for my kids?”

“It’s a life,” Castiel said, “and they won’t know any different. They’ll know the world as it is now, and they’ll thrive in it. This might be the end of days, but its not the end of existence. We’re still alive, and we can stay alive. We only have to fight for it.”

He bit his lip, the bottle rattling as he dropped it in his pocket, running his hands through his hair before asking, “If you had to choose, would you rather not have survived?”

“What?” Lori asked, lifting her head from her hands.

“If you could go back in time and choose, with all the knowledge you have now, would you rather have died at the very start? When you first learned of the walkers?” Castiel clarified, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He watched her carefully, spoke slowly as he chose his words with utmost precision, desperately needing to be reassured but not wanting to say more than was necessary. “Would you rather have died then, or would you rather live as you are now? In a hard, unforgiving world, but with the ability to choose life, and to fight?”

She looked at him quizzically, running her tongue across her lips as she pondered his question, and Cas fought to keep his hand out of his pocket. It was a nervous habit, something he hadn’t been able to ditch since he stole the bottle of Dilaudid from Hershel’s medicine cabinet.

He still didn’t understand why he took it. It was just there, sitting in the pouch-like pocket of his dark red hoodie, but he couldn’t rationalize why he took it from the medicine cabinet in the first place, because it seemed like the only thing he wanted to do with it was roll it around in his hands, or stare at it. He didn’t want to take them, at least he didn’t think so. He just wanted to have them around, in case he needed them, but even that didn’t make sense. Cas couldn’t see a time in his future he would ever need one of those little, yellow pills so badly, that he needed to carry them around with him always.

He just liked having them there, he rationalized, as he laid awake the other night, holding the bottle in his hands just above his face, spinning it slightly so he could read the label in the pale moonlight. It was comforting, knowing that even though he _wouldn’t_ use them, if ever he wanted to, he _could_. They were close by, and whether or not he was going to take them, that was enough to make him feel secure.

It hadn’t yet been enough to help him to sleep, though. Castiel had tossed and turned night after night, not able to get comfortable as every little thing bothered him. His blankets were too noisy, the moon was too bright. The night air was too cold and the bugs outside his tent were too loud. His clothes itched, his leg jittered and his socks were too tight. There was not one thing in his tent that didn’t bother him in some way or another, and the same could be said for the world outside of it, too.

Cas tried to play it off like it was a non-issue, but even when he managed to get to sleep, it wouldn’t be for long. He had these strange, vivid dreams that woke him up after only a few minutes, and his eyes would open with a start, alert and wide awake. He would be unable to even think about sleep for hours after that.

He had been moody for lack of sleep, moody in general if he was being honest. He cried over the stupidest things, got angry and lashed out over nothing, and that wasn’t like him at all. He was sore and tired all the time, and he found himself very often drifting into space, staring off at nothing, even when he had a job to do. He was needy, clingy and desperate for reassurance, and he had no idea _why_. All he knew was that when the mood struck him, as it had now, all of the shit he felt guilty about, his wrongs and mistakes, surfaced with a vengeance and he couldn’t beat them down on his own.

Cas was the cause of Lori’s suffering, his mistakes told him. Cas fucked up, let the devil out of his cage and castrated the one angel who had any hope of stopping him, and he was the reason every single person in that house was drifting, lost in a world they didn’t understand anymore. And the worst part of it was, they all blamed themselves, and accepted him without question. They took his counsel, they listened to and loved him, and they were his family. But he was the cause of everything that was wrong with their lives.

He choked out a broken laugh and looked away.

How had he any right to ask Lori that question? He was only trying to clear his conscience, abate his guilt for a moment, and she didn’t even know that. He wanted her to reinforce that he had made the right choice, when he knew in his heart that he didn’t. They didn’t, he and the Winchester’s destroyed the world. What would Lori’s vague answer to an even vaguer question solve? Nothing. It would only serve to make him feel better, only for a moment.

And he didn’t think he deserved to.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and tossed the bottle between them.

“What kind of question is that?” Lori asked, finally, sounding almost amused, “Of course I would rather live.”

Despite himself, Cas felt a thrum of vindication ricochet through his veins, and he looked up at her pensively.

“I would have given up long ago otherwise,” Lori leaned over towards his makeshift bed, straightening out the curled-up corner, only for it to roll in on itself again, “I need to be here, for my son, my husband… my baby. I want Carl to have a chance, to have as much of a life as he can, and I sure as hell don’t want to just lay down and die. It’s hard, and I have my moments of weakness, but I’m only human. Sometimes, we’re weak. It happens.”

When she looked at him again, she frowned deeply, and reached out her hand to gently caress his cheek. Only then did he realize the tears tracking down his cheeks. “Fuck,” he muttered, wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater, “I’m sorry. Lori—” Cas sighed, forcing a smile as best he could, “Thank you.”

“You are so weird,” she muttered, and laughed when he swatted at her with the back of his hand, “but you’re my closest friend, you know that, right? I couldn’t do half of what I need to do without you. You’re my chain-smoking, alcoholic, foul mouthed guardian angel.”

Castiel laughed despite himself, and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he said softly, his smile feeling a little more natural, “I love you, too.”

Lori sidled up next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him down into a hug, and he let himself be moved into her arms. He lifted his hands from his pocket and gripped her tight, his chin resting on her shoulder and his eyes slipping closed, relaxing into her and missing as she slipped her hand inside his pocket and pulled the bottle of pills from his sweater.

She tore away from him with a triumphant noise, and she was on her feet in an instant, walking across the tiny loft. Castiel hovered there, half sitting on the ground and half on his feet as he watched her with baited breath, not knowing what to say as she turned the bottle in her hands. Her victorious expression fell as she read the label, and when she looked up at him, it was with a curious look on her face. She looked torn between offering to help and giving him shit, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she ruminated on what to do next, giving Cas a chance to speak his piece in the interim.

A dozen excuses hovered on his tongue, and his mouth moved around each and every one, but he couldn’t voice them. He couldn’t tell her he hadn’t taken any, or that he wasn’t planning on it. He couldn’t explain that he needed them, because he didn’t know the reason for that either. And there was no use in telling her how they comforted him, it wasn’t like she would understand anyways.

So, instead of an excuse, Castiel looked up at her pleadingly, and begged, “Please, don’t tell Daryl.”

“ _Rick_!”

They both started as Shane’s voice boomed across the field, and Lori almost dropped the bottle of Dilaudid on the ground. Instead, she shoved it in the pocket of her jeans, and ran over to the window, sparing Castiel a look as he followed that said they weren’t finished, and they were going to talk later.

From the top floor window, they watched as Shane ran out of the woods, blood streaming from his nose and shouting at the top of his lungs for Rick. He was gesturing to the woods wildly, wavering on his feet from his injury, and both Lori and Cas headed for the stairs as they saw Rick pull his gun from his holster.

“Randall’s armed!” Shane was yelling as Lori and Cas approached, winded from sprinting across the field to the barn, “He's got my gun!”

“What happened?” Lori demanded.

“Little bastard snuck up on me, got out of his cuffs somehow and climbed out through the rafters,” Shane said, spitting blood onto the ground, “Clocked me in the face, too.”

“All right. Hershel, Lori, get everybody back in the house.” Rick said, jumping into gear, “Glenn, Daryl, T and Cas, you’re coming with us. We’ll get into groups of two and split up.”

“Why can’t we just let him go?” Carol asked, wrapping her arms around herself as the group began to split up, “That was the plan, wasn't it? To just let him go?”

“The plan was to cut him loose far away from here,” Rick said, gesturing to the woods with the muzzle of his pistol, “not on our front step with a gun.”

Castiel cursed and ran after Daryl, who was already hot on Shane’s heels into the woods. With the dogged way Daryl was tailing him, the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, after days of not being able to look at Shane at all… Cas was struck with a sudden understanding that there was something fishy going on. That something about Shane’s story somehow didn’t add up in Daryl’s mind.

“Kid weighs a buck-25 soaking wet. You trying to tell us he got the jump on you?” Daryl asked, accusingly.

They had all wandered into the treeline when Shane whirled around at Daryl, snapping back, “I’d say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?” and Castiel didn’t miss the way Daryl jerked backwards, out of Shane’s path. He looked at him oddly, and Cas was once again amazed he was looking at him at all. It had been a week since the barn, and in that week, Daryl had avoided any confrontation with Shane at all.

“Alright, knock it off,” Rick interjected, getting between the two of them and shoving Shane back with a palm to the center of his chest. He turned to Daryl and gestured off into the woods, “You and Glenn head that way, Shane and I will go north, T and Cas, you take the west. Remember, Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other.”

Daryl looked like he was going to argue, but one look from Rick shut him up. With a passing glance over his shoulder at Shane, Daryl headed off with Glenn in the direction Rick had pointed, hauling his crossbow over his shoulder with a huff. Rick and Shane headed out as well, leaving Cas and T standing in the treeline, Castiel watching Shane’s retreating form, and T-Dog looking confused as to why they weren’t moving.

There was something off about the whole thing, Cas mused, noticing that Shane kept behind Rick as they walked away, despite the fact that he knew where Randall had gone last. Daryl had picked up on it too, and Cas debated going after him so he could explain what he was thinking. He was right to question how Shane was taken down by Randall… not only was he twice his size, he also had a demon looking out for him. Randall could _maybe_ get the jump on Shane, but not Mephistopheles.

As Castiel watched Shane walk away, T clapped his hand on his shoulder, startling him back into the present. “Yo, we heading out or not?” he asked, and Cas shook his head.

“No, I need to…” Cas trailed off, only seeing the arm of Shane’s jacket as he and Rick walked past a grove of trees and out of sight. He craned his neck and stepped in their direction, not wanting to lose them, and said, “You go on back to the house, I need to keep an eye on something and you shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

“But Rick said to—”

“When have I ever done what Rick’s said?” Cas called over his shoulder as he ran after Rick and Shane, “Go back to the house T, before it gets dark!”

Castiel booked it through the woods, watching his step to avoiding anything that might crack underfoot or disrupt the surrounding foliage, and tip Shane and Rick off. He needed to remain quiet and inconspicuous, if he wanted to see what Shane was up to. He used every trick he ever learned from Daryl, how to step quietly through the leaves, how to fall behind and out of sight, to track them by sound and footprints alone.

He and Daryl had been keeping an eye on Shane since the barn incident, and so far, he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. He hadn’t made any waves, had mostly kept to himself, and outside of his everyday power struggle with Rick, it was the most lucid he’d been in months.

Daryl, on the other hand, had been reduced to a nervous wreck. He wouldn’t talk about it, but there was something about Shane that had him on edge, always, even when Shane was nowhere in sight. Just the sound of his voice was enough to send Daryl packing, gathering up whatever chore he was in the middle of and hiking back to their tent, before Shane could breach his line of sight. Cas had pressed him on it once or twice, but each time was met with either sullen silence or a curt glare that told him he was better off not asking. He just went about his business as usual, hoping if it were something serious, Daryl would have the presence of mind to talk to him about it, and Castiel learned to actively ignore how his partner withdrew every time Shane walked into a room.

But this time, Daryl hadn’t been avoiding Shane. No, Daryl had trailed after him, eyes fixed on him with dogged determination, staring at him in a way he never had before. Like he could see something inside of Shane, something dark and twisted, and he was trying to figure out it’s scheme. And Shane…

The way that Shane cut him off, and the determined way he shot Daryl down when he spoke out against him…

Even now, trailing them through the woods, the way that Shane was hanging behind, letting Rick lead the way along a winding path through the trees. He kept himself right behind Rick, his steps falling in line, and as his voice carried over the sounds of the forest, his voice was slow and steady, his words antagonistic. It was like he was keeping Rick in his sights… like that was his plan all along.

“Snatched your gun, huh?” Castiel heard Rick say, as the sun dipped below the treeline, “Hit you with a rock?” The scepticism in his voice was clear, and Shane picked up on it, snapping back in one word answers, pressing them forwards and before long, Castiel noticed they had gone in a big circle. They were already approaching the treeline once more, Shane and Rick’s stride slowing, and he knew that Rick must have had some inkling as to what Shane—or rather, Mephistopheles—was planning.

When they broke through the trees and headed out into the field, it was already dark, the moon hanging high in the sky. It was a bright night, the fields of grass and grain cast in a pale, white glow, rippling like the surface of the ocean as the cool autumn breeze rolled through. Rick stopped halfway across the field, his shoulders slumping in resignation when he heard Shane cock his gun.

Castiel drew his blade, crouched down low, and started a slow, steady approach.

“So, this is where you planned to do it?” Rick asked, his back still turned to Shane, and Castiel tried to keep his steps measured and quiet as he walked across the field, keeping low as he strode towards Shane. His hands trembled around the hilt of his knife, his eyes darting nervously between Rick and Shane.

He watched his steps, leading with his toe before rolling onto the heel, like Daryl had taught him. He approached Shane like he was a wild animal, cautious but surefooted, his hunting knife held level with his head, the hilt pointing forwards. If he could just get close enough, he thought to himself, he could knock Shane out. He only had to be quiet.

Shane shrugged his shoulders, holding his gun level with Rick’s head, and said, “Seems as good a place as any.”

“At least have the balls to call this what it is—” Rick said, turning on his heel with his hands in the air, and Castiel froze in place, maybe ten feet behind Shane, half crouched with his blade raised, as they caught each others eye. “Murder.” Rick muttered, staring past Shane’s shoulder at Cas.

Cas held up his free hand, palm forward and silently pleaded with him to keep talking, to not draw attention to him. He looked pointedly at his knife, at the butt of the blade, then back at Shane and waited. There was no look of understanding in Rick’s schooled expression, no sign that he would play along, but that in itself was Cas’ answer. Rick was a professional, and his calm, collected demeanor as he looked back at Shane was enough to keep Cas moving, stepping carefully towards Shane, advancing inch by inch as Rick kept him busy, distracted.

“You really believe if you walk back onto that farm alone— No me, no Randall—” Rick said, ignoring Shane as he attempted to shush him, barreling onwards, and Castiel crept forwards another few feet, “You really believe they're gonna buy whatever bullshit story you cook up?”

“That's just it. It ain't no story.” Shane steadied his arm, supporting his wrist with his free hand and his finger was hovering on the trigger, “I saw that prisoner shoot you down. I ran after him. I snapped his neck. It ain't gonna be easy, but Lori and Carl-- They'll get over you. They done it before. They just gonna have to.”

“Why now?” Rick asked, his brow knotting as he took a step forward, his hands raising even higher as Shane readjusted his stance, shooting him a warning look and stopping him in his tracks, “I thought we worked this all out.”

Shane barked a laugh, and ran a hand over his head, “We tried to kill each other, man! What you think? We just gonna forget about it all? We gonna ride off into the sunset together?”

With his hands still in the air, Rick chanced a harried glace over to Cas, who was now only mere inches from Shane’s back. Castiel nodded, urging him on, and with his jaw set firm, Rick asked, “You gonna kill me in cold blood? Screw my wife? Have my children— _my children_ — call you daddy? Is that what you want?” Rick spat, disgusted, and the look of distaste on his face was no longer an act, “That life won't be worth a damn. I know you. You won't be able to live with this.”

“What you know about what I can live with? You got no idea what I can live with, what I already live with!” Shane roared, gesturing forwards with his pistol, spittle flying from between his teeth and Rick took a hasty step back, stunned silent, “You wanna talk about what I can do, Rick? How about what you can do? Here I am.” He gestured to Rick’s belt with a pointed finger, “Come on, man. Raise your gun.”

Cas stepped forwards one last time, both feet planted firmly in the dirt underfoot as he crouched behind Shane. He didn’t breathe as he slowly stood, he didn’t dare make a sound. Sweat beaded along his forehead and his nostrils flooded with the cloying scent of old, drying blood, Shane so close now Cas could feel the heat radiating from his tightly strung form.

When Rick shook his head, Shane scoffed. “What happened, Rick?” he asked, “I thought you weren't the good guy anymore. Ain't that what you said? Even right here, right now, you ain't gonna fight for 'em?” He spat again, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, and Cas steadied his knife with both hands, holding it high and rearing back in one smooth motion as Shane shouted, “I'm a better father than you, Rick! I'm better for Lori than you, man! It's 'cause I'm a better man than you, Rick. 'Cause I can be here and I'll fight for it!”

Rick looked up at Castiel desperately, his expression of routine calm crumbling as Shane ranted. “You come back here and you just destroy everything! You got a broken woman, you got a weak boy, and you ain't got the first clue on how to fix it.” Shane was huffing, and as Castiel lunged forwards, the heel of his knife aimed squarely at the back of his head, he told Rick to, “Raise your damn gun!”

Castiel was expecting to hear a sickening crunch, the sound of metal connecting with unsuspecting skull, and maybe a cry of startled pain from Shane. He expected to hear a body hit the ground, or at least an angry cry or a gunshot, if he didn’t hit hard enough. He half expected Rick to cry out, in shock or in agony if Shane discharged his weapon.

He never expected to be hurtled backwards through the air by an unseen force, his feet lifting off the ground as he soared, landing heavily on his back with the wind knocked out of him. He didn’t anticipate his hunting knife being knocked from his hand as he hit the ground, flying off to the side and out of arms reach, as he groaned and writhed against the grass, his shoulders and lower back screaming from the force of the impact. Struggling up onto his elbows, Castiel stared wide eyed through illuminated darkness, the wind picking up and whipping the grass against his sides as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Rick had his gun out of its holster, aimed at Shane’s back as he stared in shock, back and forth between Shane and Castiel. He was speaking, shouting, demanding to know what the _hell_ was going on, but his cries fell on deaf ears. Cas wasn’t watching him, and Shane wasn’t Shane any longer.

Facing Cas, his gun dropped to the ground and forgotten at his feet, Not-Shane ran his hands across his head and breathed in deep, his eyes closing as he tipped his head back. He rolled his head along his shoulders, stretching out his neck before lacing his fingers together and raising them high, groaning with the strain as he stretched out his arms, and smiled.

Laughing, Not-Shane shook his head, and when he opened his eyes again, they were pure, milky white.

“I wasn’t sure you’d follow,” Not-Shane said in Shane’s voice, and Cas struggled to his feet. With a tsk, Not-Shane snapped his fingers, and Cas was pinned to the ground once more, landing on his elbows and crying out as they dug into the soft earth below, “But, I’m glad you decided to come alone. Whether a wise decision on your part or not, we have much to discuss, Castiel.”

His full named rolled from Not-Shane’s tongue so easily, the pronunciation true and old. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume I’m not talking to Shane anymore… am I, Mephistopheles?” Cas asked.

“Ah,” Mephistopheles’ chuckled, through Shane’s lips, with Shane’s voice, “so the psychic told you my name. Does that mean you remember me?”

Castiel frowned, “We’ve never met.”

“So clearly, no, you don’t. Well then, I guess my question was redundant, yes... but it’s all for dramatic effect, I promise.” Mephistopheles tented Shane’s fingers, and stepped forward, a ponderous expression on is borrowed face, “And though I would not expect a creature of light, such as yourself, to spare much thought to the dark places I reside in, I’ll have _you_ know, I’m your number one fan.”

Scoffing, Castiel leaned back onto his elbows, reclining with the invisible force pressing down on him from above. “I find it hard to believe I have many fans these days,” he said softly, “Why don’t you just tell me what you want, so we can get you out of Shane, and on your way back to Hell.”

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Rick demanded, his voice booming as he interrupted them, and when Mephistopheles turned to him he gasped in shock, “Shane, your eyes... What the _hell_ is happening!?”

“Oh, shut _up_!” Mephistopheles bemoaned, and with a flick of his wrist, Rick was knocked down onto the ground, pinned there as Cas was. Mephistopheles turned back towards Cas, saying “And you can’t make me leave, I just got here! Shane’s been fighting me for months!”

“It’s always the good guys, you know?” Mephistopheles asked, pacing back and forth in front of Castiel, looking down at his borrowed body fondly, “They’re the toughest ones to break, but they make the most delightful pets when they’re done. There’s nothing more satisfying then pushing a stand-up man until he bends and snaps, and Shane? Oh, Shane was _this_ close to snapping!”

“It would have been so delightfully Shakespearean,” Mephistopheles said distantly, a small, wistful smile twisting at Shane’s lips that made Castiel’s skin crawl, “Honestly, I haven’t had this much fun with a mark since Emperor Nero. Shane has fought me every step of the way, tried so hard to be a good, honest man, but he is just _terrible_ at ignoring me! I swear, half of the things I’ve convinced him to do, he only did to shut me up!”

“And yet, he still hasn’t accepted my deal. Unfortunate too, that your boy stumbled onto my true form so soon, when I was so close to striking a bargain with Shane.” Mephistopheles clicked his tongue, and snapped his fingers suddenly, eliciting a loud cry from Rick as his body slammed back into the ground. Castiel bit his tongue, stopping himself from telling Rick to stop struggling, not wanting to draw any undue attention to himself. It seemed that Mephistopheles just wanted to hear himself talk, and Cas had no plan to speak of. He needed time, so he stayed silent, pretending to listen as Mephistopheles rambled on, griping that he “had to take over his body to deal with _you_ , and it’s going to take weeks for him to trust me again. Just when I had him convinced to go full Uncle Claudius on Rick here, too.”

“Well I do apologize,” Cas snapped, “your spontaneous possession shouldn’t have to get in the way of buying his _soul_.”

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, angel!” Mephistopheles bellowed, towering over Cas as he felt himself pushed further into the grass below, “You trick people to get into their meatsuits too, you’re no better than me. Besides,” he chuckled, “you of all people are in no position to cling to any moral authority… you did let the devil out of his cage, after all.”

Castiel paled.

“No, seriously,” Mephistopheles said, dropping into a crouch in front of Castiel’s crumpled form, “I meant what I said about being your biggest fan. I never thought I’d see the day that an _angel_ would tip the scales in Hell’s favour. I feel like I should be sending you a fruit basket.”

His heart pounding in his chest, anger bubbling just below the surface, Castiel asked, “What the _hell_ do you want?”

“A little foreplay, for starters, or do you always jump right to it?” Shaking his head, Mephistopheles stood once more, looking over his shoulder at Rick, who was staring at both of them from his place on the ground, hovering on the precipice of anger and hysterics. “Alright, well, at first I was just here for poor Shane’s soul, but then you came along, and I realized… there’s someone out there who would pay top dollar for a bonafide fallen angel.” Mephistopheles pointed a Cas, “See, he’s interested in what makes you tick, and rumor has it he thinks that fallen angels are a rare commodity that can help him bust the gates of Heaven wide open, even though they’re locked up tight. But as you know, supplies are limited, and he can’t risk testing his hypothesis on _himself_ , so…”

Despite his attempts at being deliberately vague, the pieces slowly fell into place, and Castiel shook his head as he muttered, “You’re going to sell me to Lucifer?”

“In layman’s terms?” Mephistopheles scrunched up Shane’s lips and tipped his head side to side, exaggeratedly weighing the truth of Cas’ summarization, before deciding, “Yes.”

Cas scoffed, “That’s ridiculous… I’m mortal, powerless _and_ an enemy of the host. He’s smarter than that, he’d know that I’m useless to him!”

“Apparently, you don’t know your brother all that well, because he doesn’t seem to think so…” said Mephistopheles, “and, if you do end up being, as you say, powerless, I think he could still find something to do with the angel who started the apocalypse, don’t you think? You’re almost like a collector’s item at this point.”

This isn’t happening, Castiel thought to himself. His fingers clenched in the dirt beneath him, and he chanced a glance over at Rick, who seemed just about as confused as Cas would have expected him to be. Cas had no idea what to do, or how to proceed. He didn’t know what kind of being Mephistopheles was, what rank of demon. He couldn’t reach his angel blade in his thigh holster with his arms pinned to the ground, and he wouldn’t dare start an exorcism without some way to restrain Mephistopheles. He would be putting both Rick and himself in danger. All he could do was stall for time, and his voice shook as he told Mephistopheles, “You know I won’t come quietly.”

“I’m counting on it!” The demon barked, laughing as he ran his hand across his mouth, “I have leverage, and I’d hate to see it go to waste. I love a good scheme.”

“I can send you back to hell with some holy water and a well-timed exorcism; Shane isn’t very good leverage.

“No,” Mephistopheles agreed, “but your boyfriend is.”

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. “You’ve got nothing on him,” he said, not fully believing himself.

“I know he’s a powerful psychic. I know he’s manifesting greater skills as the two of you have been working together, powers he shouldn’t even have…” Counting the reasons off on his fingers, Mephistopheles look down at Castiel wryly, Shane’s eyebrow raised and a smirk twisting at his lips, “and I know something you don’t. Something Lucifer would love to hear, which would make him take a keen interest in this farm.”

“You’re bluffing.” Cas said, steadier this time. He knew Daryl, had worked with him on his abilities ever since they rescued him from the Djinn, and he knew what he could do. “He’s powerful sure, but that’s nothing to the Morningstar. Angels possess power far beyond what Daryl can do, and archangels even more so… He’s just a man.”

“He _is_ just a man, yes.” Mephistopheles agreed, “But he’s a man whose mother, two months he before he was born, almost lost him when her abusive, alcoholic husband pushed her down the stairs at eight months pregnant. She cried when she saw the blood, when she knew her child was gone, and she begged, pleaded with anyone to help save her baby boy.” He crouched once more, this time reaching out and catching Castiel’s chin between Shane’s thumb and forefinger, forcing him to meet his eyes as he said, “And when Azazel offered to bring him back to her, just by drinking a small amount of his blood? She didn’t hesitate to say yes.”

Castiel shook his head, his words tumbling past his lips before he could curate them, lost in his own panic and curiosity. “That’s impossible,” he said, “all of Azazel’s kids are dead. Sam Winchester was the only one to survive the trials, and now he’s gone too. Besides, that’s not his MO. Azazel made deals with the mothers to poison the _children_ with his blood. He never once made the mothers drink it.”

“Do you honestly think Azazel got it right on the first try? Or that he would be stupid enough to test only one hypothesis?” Mephistopheles looked at him pityingly, running his thumb along the cleft of Cas’ chin in an affectionate gesture that sent bile roiling up his throat, “No, these things take time, Cas, and the batch of kids that Sam defeated were Azazel’s only successful run.”

“See, he tried to poison the mothers with his blood first, thinking that would be enough. Azazel’s blood would circulate through the child’s body as it did their mother’s, but he realized once they were born that it wasn’t enough.” Mephistopheles said, cupping Cas’ cheek, “The blood was diffused through the mothers, and while the children born did possess a latent psychic ability, they were no stronger than your run of the mill, natural born medium. The children needed pure demon blood, a direct dose, and so… Sam’s trial won out in the end.”

“He didn’t want to abandon Daryl’s group of test subjects, though, not outright. He tried to push them, and had _me_ there on the front lines, egging them along.” With a pat to Castiel’s cheek, he stood once more, shoving Shane’s hands in his pockets, “Ask Daryl about the man who used to wait for him outside of school, or the thing that stalked him through the woods, every time he went hunting, for a whole winter when he was ten. I tried everything I could think of to bring that poor boy to bear, and in the end, Azazel gave him one last push before writing Daryl off as a failure.” Turning to look down at him once more, Mephistopheles tilted Shane’s head and asked, “Tell me, Castiel. How did his mother die?”

“She burned,” Cas breathed.

“She _burned_. It was a last-ditch effort on Azazel’s part, and when that didn’t work to bring Daryl to his full potential, Azazel wrote him off as a loss and moved on to the next. It killed him to do it, but as you know, he had other children to focus on.” Chuckling, Mephistopheles ran Shane’s hand over his head, “Come to think of it, if Azazel were still alive? It would kill him to know that after all of his hard work, the only thing he needed to tap the reservoir of power in that big lugs head? Was just a fallen angel in an enticing vessel.”

“So, tell me… do you still think Lucifer wouldn’t be interested in Mr. Dixon?” Mephistopheles asked, and now Castiel wasn’t so sure, “Are you willing to take that chance, or are we going to be boring and come along quietly?”

Cas sat, stunned as the force that had been pushing him into the ground was suddenly gone. His muscles burned and strained as he sat up straight, pulling himself to his knees despite how his back protested, aching where he hit the ground. He looked across at Rick, who was sitting still, no longer struggle or trying to speak, just watching what was unfolding before him without understanding it in the least. And finally, looking back at Not-Shane, standing in front of him with his hand outstretched, calm and relaxed, like he could wait forever if he needed to. Like he had all the time in the world to stand there and wait for Cas to choose to willingly hand over his life, or put all the people he loved in jeopardy.

He couldn’t fathom why Lucifer would want anything to do with him. He had attempted to sway Castiel to his side once, in Carthage, Missouri, but Cas had still been an angel then, burning with the same folly and pride that drowned the Morningstar. Lucifer saw his fight and rebellion, and in it saw his opening… his ploy. Cas had power, and Lucifer could have used an angel on his side.

But now Cas was useless to him. He was mortal and weak, completely powerless. The last of his grace left him long ago, when Michael fell in a mismatched vessel, and the forces of Heaven that still remained locked themselves in the Upper Plains. They retreated to the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia, and took his grace with them, leaving Castiel behind to rot on the surface of a dying earth, where he belonged.

If he was so certain Mephistopheles was wrong, that there was no reason why Lucifer would have any interest in him, however… why was he so afraid to go with him?

If the Morningstar wouldn’t spare him a passing glance, then why couldn’t Castiel muster the strength to stand and take this demons hand?

There was a curious feeling thrumming just below his ribs. A pulsing, aching knot that was winding tighter and tighter, the more the though about handing himself over to Mephistopheles, and when he finally deduced what it was, it brought tears to his eyes, and a sardonic smile to his face.

He was afraid.

Not of death, as was his usual go to. And not for the lives of those who might be caught in the crosshairs. No, he was afraid of facing the Morningstar, locked within Sam Winchester’s body. To see the face of a man he had loved and admired, a man he had respected until the bitter end, and even in that moment, and know that he was the reason his soul burned.

He was afraid that when he was face to face with the devil, he could no longer turn away from the depths of his failings.

And that would be a fate worse than death.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Mephistopheles and Shane’s outstretched hand any longer, and Castiel tore his eyes away, instead staring at Rick, who was sitting, pinned to the ground, not even five feet away.

He looked terrified, Cas mused, taking in his wide eyes and pallid complexion, the tremors that shook his body as he struggled to keep upright against the force of Mephistopheles power. He didn’t ask for this. Rick didn’t ask for any of this, from the responsibility of taking care of their group of survivors, to being the target of his best friend’s violence and anger, spurred onwards by a demon whispering horrid encouragements in his ear. He didn’t ask to have his worldview shaken again, to have a demon possess his friend before facing off in a verbal sparring match with an angel he didn’t know walked among them. He only wanted what was best for his wife and children, and to keep everyone safe. He only wanted to be a good, just man.

And if Castiel didn’t swallow his pride, once and for all, everyone on that farm would be in danger. He would be sweeping their tenuous safety out from under them in one fell swoop, bringing the legions of hell down on them as Lucifer descended to claim what was made for him. A man Castiel didn’t even know existed, even though he slept beside him every night, and woke up to him every morning. A gift from Azazel that didn’t shine as brightly as the one that was given, and so was left in the dark, forgotten until now.

Daryl, Rick, Lori… everyone he cared for would die, if Lucifer knew about this farm.

Drawing a shaky breath, Castiel caught Rick’s eye and mustered a sombre apology, before reaching up and taking Mephistopheles borrowed hand. The demon smiled at him with lips that weren’t his, all gums and perfect teeth, as he hauled Castiel to his feet, as Rick begged, “Please, Cas, no!”

Cas closed his eyes as he stood, breathing deep and reminding himself that _this_ was what he asked for: penance, absolution. This was his last deed, his final act of self sacrifice and his surrender of hubris. He would face all that he had done, and he would be punished for it. He would most likely die for it, eventually at least. But at least then, he would know he had done all that he could, and maybe, hopefully, he could be forgiven for all he fucked up in his long, long life.

On his feet, Castiel opened his eyes just in time to see Shane slump sideways, his legs taken out from under him as a gunshot ricocheted across the field, and Rick screamed a grief-stricken, “No!”


	29. Unprecedented

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, everything seems to be coming to a head! I didn't particularly like this one, I just kind of forced it as best I could to get on to the next part, so I may go back and edit it a few times in the coming days, but nothing of the plot will change. Just the pacing and some of the writing. Let me know your thoughts, or if you spot any errors!
> 
> Thanks guys, hope you enjoy it!

“This is pointless. You got a light?” Daryl grumbled, squinting through the dimness of the woods as Glenn fished around in his bag for his flash light. “Come on,” he said, taking the light and flicking it on as he crouched down, running his fingers through the leaves and dirt underfoot, “If you're gonna do a thing, you might as well do it right.”

“I thought you told Rick there was nothing to track?” Glenn asked, crouching down beside him and watching as he picked up a path.

“Yeah, well, guess I was wrong,” Daryl said, glibly. Truth of the matter is, there was always a path. He’d been walking along it absently for the past thirty minutes, but he didn’t want Shane to know that. He wanted Shane to get out of his sight, so Daryl could get off his radar… y’know, just in case he needed to put a stop to whatever Shane was planning.

He knew Shane was up to something the second he saw him running out of the woods with a broken nose, not only because he knew Shane was nearing the end of his rope, but because his story didn’t make any sense. Maybe Randall could have slipped the cuffs by breaking his thumbs, but then how the hell did he manage to take Shane’s gun, and how did he plan to shoot it? He wouldn’t even be able to hold it at all, much less steady enough to line up a shot. And maybe Randall managed to climb up the rafters, with a busted leg and supposedly broken thumbs… but how did he get down and to the treeline without anybody noticing? How did he manage to get the jump on Shane, who was supposedly on guard duty, when Shane was a cop in good physical condition?

None of it made sense, and Daryl had already been reduced to a vibrating bundle of nerves since his mishap earlier that day at the barn, anyways. He had to call it a mishap, he decided, because if he called it what it was (a vision? Premonition?) he would cease to be able to function. It was all well and good when it had happened _once_ , when he didn’t see anyone he recognized and nothing talked to him. He thought that they were harmless, something purely visual, like watching a movie.

But Sam had _touched_ him, and Daryl felt it. Not in an ‘I imagined it so hard I could _almost_ feel it’ kind of way; more like a ‘holy shit, there’s soot on my wrists in the shape of a handprint’ way. He had touched the handprint when he came back to himself with an almost dissociative interest, scraping off the soot caked to his wrist with his fingernails, and looking at it objectively as he lay on his back, half burnt cigarette between his lips. He’d studied it, turning his wrist from side to side until something snapped together, and he remembered that _things_ weren’t allowed to touch his physical self when interacting with his ethereal self. People and creatures in his visions (or, whatever) weren’t supposed to touch him at all, much less leave physical reminders of their contact behind.

He had sat up straight, flinging his smoke across the lawn and all but ran towards the water pump, panicked by his sudden realization. As he fell to his knees beside it, running freezing cold well water over the soot and scrubbing it away, he was reminded of that spirit in the C.D.C., or the poor girl who had hung herself with an extension cord. He had seen her too, in the waking world (he’d thought), and when he witnessed her death he felt it as well, bearing the bruises from her cord around his neck for a week afterwards. She had been a spirit, driven half mad with her grief and confusion… so did that mean Sam Winchester became a spirit as well?

If so, why did he seek out Daryl then, and not Cas?

And what Sam said, about the things he saw being glimpsed through a window… that others could see him as much as he saw them through his visions? He was already uncomfortable with having them at all, and he wasn’t sure if he could contend with the knowledge that someone might be eavesdropping on him through his premonitions.

Finally, what bothered him most about the whole scenario, was Shane. Well, less Shane, and more the thing that had been hanging out with Shane.

Mephistopheles.

He’d had two of these visions since their group hit the farm, both having to do with the barn burning, and one quasi episode where he accidentally spoke with Mephistopheles himself (or rather, said his name out loud). And in each vision, he’d heard a voice. He had never been able to place it, not until then. Because when he was standing on the porch, hovering with his hand on the farm house door, he’d heard it clearer than ever before, and he knew it was coming from Mephistopheles. It was the same voice he heard whenever he was around Shane, only amplified tenfold, and it was too familiar. Like he’d heard it long ago, before he ever knew of demons and the supernatural.

What if Mephistopheles was planting these premonitions in his head? It wasn’t all that crazy an idea, and Daryl was reaching the end of his rope. After keeping his head down and avoiding Shane as much as possible (for the sake of his sanity more than anything else), for Daryl to learn that Shane’s pet demon might be planting visions in his poor, beleaguered brain? That was almost too much to bear.

Daryl had been sitting next to the water spout, trying to calm himself down before going to find Cas, when Shane had burst through the trees, blood streaming from an obviously broken nose, yelling that Randall had his gun.

And that time, when Daryl approached Shane, he didn’t look away. He didn’t think twice about it, no he stared right at him the whole time, following him every step, because the wispy, barely-there creature hovering over his shoulder was in focus now, and was looking back at Daryl with purpose, its pale, white eyes wide.

There was no way Mephistopheles wasn’t behind all of this, he decided. Daryl just had to figure out what his game plan was.

Daryl knew he wanted Shane’s soul. He and Cas had determined that after figuring out who the demon was. He was a servant of Lucifer, most famous for convincing Faust to sell his soul, and his trade was in lying and corruption. He wanted to destroy Shane first, to persuade him to act on every negative impulse, to be selfish, murderous and cruel, before finally convincing him that with Mephistopheles’ power at his disposal, he could have anything he wanted. All he had to do was wager his newly corrupted soul, which was bound for hell anyways.

With that in mind, it was easy to pick out the instances in which Mephistopheles had succeeded in swaying Shane to the dark side. Sleeping with his best friend’s wife, for one. Then assaulting his best friend’s wife, trying to kill that self same best friend, killing Otis out of a sense of duty to the son of his best friend...

Breaking open the barn to prove he knew better than Rick.

Refusing to let Lori bury the hatchet and raise her baby as Rick’s own.

And now Randall…

Why Randall?

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Daryl muttered, pointing to two sets of footprints in the ground, “There's two sets of tracks right here. Shane must've followed him a lot longer than he said, and it looks like they're walking in tandem.” Standing, he walked to a nearby tree, following a single set of foot prints and looked up at the trunk. “There's fresh blood on this tree,” he said, dipping his fingers in it and bringing them to his nose, sniffing sharply, “not walker blood, neither.”

“Wait, they were walking together?” Glenn asked, following Daryl with the flashlight, “I thought Shane said Randall snuck up on him.”

“I think he was lying,” said Daryl, dropping back down into a crouch, “There was a little dust up right here.”

“So, they fought—”

Glenn was cut off mid sentence by his own startled shout, a walker lunging at him from behind knocking him to the ground.

Daryl hopped up with a gasp, reeling backwards as a walker came around the tree he was standing near and grappled at him, its thin, peeling fingers wriggling at the ends of its outstretched arms. He stumbled, almost losing his footing as his heel caught on gnarled tree root, but with both arms out to his sides, flailing dramatically, he held his ground.

The walker that had taken Glenn down was still on top of him, and he could hear Glenn crying out in a blind panic, but Daryl couldn’t risk the second it would take to even look over at him. The walker in front of him lurched again, its fingers clinging to Daryl’s jacket and he barely had enough time to slam his elbow into the side of its head, before it took a bite out of his cheek.

His elbow connected with a sickening crack, the creatures sodden skull crunching in on itself with the force of the blow, and it fell to the ground, writhing on its side. With a gasping cry, Daryl took the butt of his bow and slammed it into the same spot, twice, until the walker stilled.

Daryl wheeled around, his loaded crossbow in position, ready to take aim at the walker than had Glenn pinned to the dirt, and huffed his approval when he found he didn’t have to. Glenn was on his feet, alive, huffing and puffing and repeatedly stomping on the head of the walker he took out, all by himself.

Daryl looped his crossbow over his shoulder and walked over to him, resting a hand in between his shoulder blades, his other hand raised placatingly when Glenn turned to him, panic in his eyes, thinking he was another walker. “I think you got him,” Daryl said, pulling Glenn back from the decimated walker and patting him on the back, “nice job.”

“Thanks,” Glenn said breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his brow. He inhaled deeply, his self-satisfied grin melting away as he looked at the corpse beneath his feet, and asked, “Isn’t that Randall?”

“Yup,” Daryl said, dropping into a crouch next to walker-Randall. Gripping his jaw gingerly, Daryl turned his head from side to side, frowning at the bruising just below his jaw. He knew it well, and had been seeing far too much of it lately for his taste. First on Cas, now on Randall… he’d been strangled, Daryl realized, humming quietly under his breath. But that didn’t explain how he ended up a walker.

Rolling him over, Daryl pulled up his shirt, holding the flashlight between his teeth as he checked for bites, even scratches… but there was nothing to be found. Far as he could tell, Randall had been strangled to death, left behind in the woods by Shane for some god unknown reason. So, this left Daryl with two new pieces of information to go on:

One, Shane had clearly snapped over Rick’s decision to keep Randall alive, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

And two, you don’t have to be bitten by a walker to turn into one.

A rustling in the trees to their immediate left drew both Daryl and Glenn’s attention away from poor Randall, their hands on their weapons in an instant as Daryl pointed the flashlight towards the sound. Both men sighed collectively when T-Dog emerged from behind a large oak, and seeing Glenn’s gun pointed at him he held his hands up and shouted, “Woah, whoa! Come on, man it’s just me!”

“Maybe announce yourself next time when you’re wandering through the woods in the dark,” Glenn griped, “You almost got shot.”

“I got turned around, man, sue me!” T said, walking up to the two of them and looking down at Randall suspiciously, “So he got bit out here then? Figures, poor bastard didn’t stand a chance with that bum leg.”

“He wasn’t bit,” Daryl muttered, looking over T’s shoulders as he noticed he was alone. “Where’s Cas?” he asked.

“Yeah, none we can see,” Glenn said, stooping next to Randall’s corpse and pointing out the bruise under his chin, “and it looks like Shane might have… well, somebody choked him out.”

“No, man, he didn’t get bit at all,” Daryl said, taking the flashlight and putting it right up next to the Randall’s throat, running the line of his collapsed esophagus with his index finger, “he died from this. He was strangled. Now where’s Cas?”

“How the hell did he turn then?” T asked, shaking his head, “If you get bit after you already dead, can you still turn?”

“I don’t know,” Glenn said, standing up and brushing the dirt off his jeans, “It doesn’t seem likely, but I’m not a doctor, what do I know? It could be possible.”

“T, seriously, where’s Cas?”

“Yeah, like the blood probably needs to be circulating, right?”

“Normally, but there’s nothing _normal_ about this disease. And I think the bigger issue here is, if Daryl is right, then Shane straight up murdered—”

“Hey!” Daryl yelled, snapping his fingers in front of T’s face, “Where the _hell_ is Cas!?”

T-Dog scoffed and brushed Daryl’s hand away from his face. “I don’t know, he ditched me as soon as we started lookin’,” he said irately, “He went running after Rick and Shane, told me to head back to the house, but I wanted to see if I could help, so I came looking for you two, got myself turned around.”

“What do you mean?” Daryl asked, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, “So he hasn’t been with you, this whole time? He’s out here _alone?”_

“Hey, I was out here alone, and I was fine,” T said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Besides, he was after Shane and Rick, he probably caught up to them not long after he left me.”

But why would he go off on his own in the first place, Daryl wondered, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. “So, you’re sure he was trying to catch up with Rick and Shane?” Daryl asked, cursing when T paused, thinking before shaking his head.

“Well, no…” T said, running his thumb over his lips pensively, “He uh, he actually said something about _not_ doing what Rick told him to. So, to be honest, I’m not sure what he was doing, or if he was going to meet up with them or not. Do you think he was trying to tail them?”

“Fuck!” Daryl cursed, giving Randall’s foot a sharp kick and startling Glenn and T-Dog half out of their skin, “Goddamn it, Cas!”

He was going after Shane alone, and Daryl knew it.

That stupid, stubborn idiot, Daryl thought frantically, ignoring Glenn’s worried glance and T’s confused stare as he stalked off into the woods. He was going to get himself killed.

It didn’t surprise him that Cas figured Shane was up to something, he was smart, and he was well aware that with Mephistopheles hanging around like a bad smell, Shane was in no position to be trusted. Putting two and two together, Cas probably also assumed that Shane was trying to split them all up on purpose, so he and Rick could be out on their own. And, with that in mind, he probably came to the same conclusion Daryl was… that Shane was out there with Rick, planning to do to him what he’d just done to Randall.

Rick was the crux of Mephistopheles whole operation. The end of his ‘lets-get-Shane-Walsh’s-soul’ plan. He’d set Shane and Rick at odds, now it was time for Shane to put that final nail in the coffin, shed a few alligator tears for his ‘best friend,’ and then live out the rest of his days with his best friend’s wife and his new children. Only soulless, because if Mephistopheles had his way, Shane would be cutting him a deal before Rick’s body was cold.

Cas no doubt thought he could do something. Be the hero and save the day, keep Rick from catching an untimely end at the hands of his old partner and foil a demon’s sinister plot all in one go. He probably wasn’t even thinking straight, hell bent on saving everyone else before himself, and Daryl knew he would end up running in there half cocked, without a plan, because that was just what Castiel did when he let his emotions get the better of him.

The only problem there being that when Cas didn’t have a plan, he usually crashed and burned.

“What’s wrong?” Glenn asked, keeping time with him as he ran through the woods, trees flying past in a blur as he hurried towards the farm, “Is Cas in danger?”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words. Instead, Daryl nodded and kept up his breakneck speed, his lungs protesting as he raced through the trees, with Glenn and T hot on his heels. Glenn didn’t push it, only grit his teeth and picked up the pace, and Daryl was glad for it. He could see in his face he believed him, and that the prospect of any one else in their group being hurt, or god forbid, lost, was enough to convince him to come along.

They broke through the treeline in record time, and Daryl cast a harried glance over the rolling fields, towards the house. He’d followed the constant drone of Mephistopheles voice, the steady hum that hadn’t left him since his vision earlier in the day, and it paid off. Standing in the middle of the eastern field was Shane, his gun at his feet and his hands jammed in his pockets as he loomed over Castiel, who was lying prone against the dewy grass, as was Rick, not ten feet away. Shane was speaking, but the wind that whipped around them drowned out any chance of Daryl overhearing, and he could only see their lips moving as Shane and Cas spoke back and forth.

The night was bright, the moon illuminating all three men and ringing them in a pale glow as Shane paced back and forth, his eyes no longer their usual soulful brown but a murky, dull white.

“Fuck,” Daryl muttered under his breath, crouching low to the ground and motioning for Glenn and T to do the same. They paused by the old wire fence, their backs to the trees and Daryl winced as Rick tried to stand, only for Shane to snap his fingers and send him hurtling back onto the ground.

Mephistopheles must have possessed him, Daryl thought to himself, and on closer inspection he saw that Cas was unarmed, being held to the ground by an invisible force just as Rick was. Daryl could no longer see the shadowy form of the demon, hovering around Shane or otherwise, but the could see Shane’s eyes, could see ripples in the air where he enforced his power. He was still there, only now he was corporeal, using Shane’s body to speak with Cas, who was trying his hardest to look intimidating, even when pinned to the ground.

Castiel’s arms were trembling with exertion, his muscles flexing against the force pressing him down into the earth, but Cas still held his head high. His jaw was set, firm and his eyes tracked every move Mephistopheles made, predatory and animalistic. Even from his great distance, Daryl could see his tenacity in the way Castiel held himself, proud and unwavering, even though he was being held to the ground like an unruly dog. He spoke calmly, and Daryl pressed up against the fence, unwilling to take his eyes off them for a second as he attempted to pull his pistol from the waist of his jeans.

With a gasp, Glenn smacked his hand away from his weapon. “What are you doing!?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, his eyes narrowed at Daryl, “You can’t just shoot him!”

“That thing up there?” Daryl said, pointing, “That ain’t Shane. And if we don’t do something quick? Either Cas or Rick is gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

“You need to start making with an explanation,” T said, shaking his head in disbelief as he moved closer to the two of them, “Because I don’t know if y’all noticed, but there’s something wrong with Shane’s eyes and… I think Cas and Rick are tied down by somethin'.”

Daryl groaned, running his hand down his cheek as he stared helplessly up the hill towards Castiel. He was still talking, obviously stalling for time with his fingers clenching in the dirt beneath him, and Daryl knew he didn’t have much time. Cas’ cool, collected demeanor was fading fast and he was waving under Mephistopheles strength. Daryl didn’t have the faintest idea how to tell T and Glenn that Shane was possessed by a demon, and he knew from experience it warranted more than a few seconds’ explanation.

He tried to think back to how Cas had explained it to him, and he came up empty. He was just thrown into the thick of it, with a wendigo bearing down on them in the middle of a desolate wood, and Daryl didn’t have time really question what he was being told with Castiel being dragged through the chapel cellar. He had tried to, though. He’d thought Cas was crazy, like he’d snapped under the stress of his wounds and the heat of the road, and it wasn’t until the wendigo started changing its voice that he’d really started to believe.

And that was coming from Cas. He may not have a way with words, but when it came to ripping the supernatural veil off people’s eyes, Castiel was a freaking maestro. He managed to convince Lori in no time flat, same as he did with Daryl, and all he had to do was assert, with no small amount of confidence, that the supernatural exists. He was willing to let them think he was absolutely nuts, to wholeheartedly stick to his assertions, which in the end helped them to believe what he was saying was true.

Daryl wasn’t sure he could do the same, but one quick look up the hill, he knew he had to try. With a deep breath, Daryl turned to Glenn and T, told them they had to stay quiet, and said, “Shane’s been possessed by a demon. Cas and Rick are in danger, and if we go up there, we will be too. Cas is trying to talk him down, stall for time, who knows… but there’s nothing he can do right now, from where he is.”

Glenn and T were staring at him, gaping like fish but not speaking, so Daryl plowed ahead. “Shane is still in there, but he’s buried beneath this thing,” Daryl explained, “and I’m thinking if I can incapacitate him, maybe Shane can get the upper hand and expel him. Or at least, I can distract him long enough that Cas and Rick can get away.”

“But you can’t just shoot him!” Glenn admonished, shaking his head and snatching Daryl’s gun from him, completely glossing over the whole _demon_ part of Daryl’s explanation. It was Daryl’s turn to stare, wide eyed and shocked, as Glenn shoved his pistol into his jeans and asked, “There has to be some way we can distract him without hurting anyone, Shane included.”

T-Dog made a choked off sound in the back of his throat, gesturing between the two of them wildly. “You actually believe this shit?” He asked with a disbelieving huff, “Demons, Glenn? Fucking  _demons?_   Possessing people! This is some crazy motherfucking bullshit if I ever heard some!”

Glenn held up his hand, palm out and shook his head. “I’ve seen Daryl rip a gun out of a dude’s hand using some Jedi mind power,” he said calmly, levelling T with a look that shut him right up, “I saw him explode a room’s worth of glass with a snap of his fingers. I’ve listened to Castiel talk about the beginning of time like he was there, Jesus and God like he knew them personally, and the efficacy of Feng Shui. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed all the weird shit that happens around these two.”

He turned to Daryl and raised his brow. “I started noticing something was up when you two came back from your trip to Tennessee. I mean really, Cas was attacked by a _bear_?” Glenn asked, and Daryl just shrugged helplessly, “I’ve watched a lot of YouTube videos in my lifetime, been down a lot of internet rabbit holes and I’m seen bear attacks… and I can tell you right off the bat, they bite more than they claw, and they definitely don’t have opposable  _thumbs_.”

“And when you got back that night? Was it a coincidence when you and Cas fought, all of our fires jumped like ten feet?” Glenn scoffed, “How about all the mysterious injuries you two end up with? Or all the weird shit Cas has in the trunk of his car? He has a freaking _harpoon!_ ”

“Let’s also not forget the zombies walking around, eating people,” he said, winding down and fixing T with a pointed stare, “With all the shit we’ve already seen, I think it’s a little silly to draw the line at demons.” Glenn turned back to Daryl, his jaw set in determination, and asked, “So, how do you get rid of a demon?”

Daryl chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, before clapping Glenn on the shoulder. “You keep on surprising me tonight, man,” he said, stunned, looking back up the hill towards Castiel and wincing when he saw Mephistopheles crouched down, with Cas’ chin in his grasp, “And I think the only thing that can get rid of a demon is an exorcism. Salt and iron hurt them, and there’s this thing called a devil’s trap, but we don’t have time for that.”

“Okay, so… salt. That doesn’t sound too debilitating.” Glenn pondered, following Daryl’s line of sight, “So what, we just throw some in his face?”

“We won’t get close enough for that,” Daryl said, gesturing to the hill between them, “its over 200 yards of open field, he’d notice us before we got to them.”

“What about an exorcism then?”

“No, he’d attack Cas or Rick, and he’d probably hurt Shane,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “He ain’t just gonna stand there and take it, neither. We would need to trap him first, or wound him. I do have these, though.”

Daryl pulled two salt rounds out of his back pocket and held them out to Glenn. “They’re packed with salt… I’ve been holding on to them for a while now. They’ll hurt the demon, without doing much damage to Shane.”

“Okay,” Glenn nodded, motioning for T to hand his shotgun to Daryl, “load ‘em up and shoot, and hopefully that will give Cas and Rick enough time to get out of there.”

“I can’t make a shot like that from this distance,” Daryl said, “not with a shotgun. Rounds will fall short, and then he’ll know we’re here. And like I said, there’s no way to move any closer.” They fell silent, both wracking their brains for a solution and coming up short. They couldn’t move closer, and they couldn’t hurt Shane beyond what was easily reparable, but Daryl hadn’t the faintest idea where to start.

Glenn sighed, shifting his own rifle off his shoulder.

“A least use this,” he muttered, handing it over to Daryl, “Its got a scope, it’s more accurate, it’s…” he tapered off, running his thumb along the barrel, “it was Dale’s.”

“Oh, so you’re okay with me shooting Shane with _this_ , but not with my gun?” Daryl asked, taking the rifle all the same. He knew how to use it at least, his dad had one just like it when he was a kid. He didn’t think he’d ever fired a shotgun in his life.

“With this you’ll be able to direct your shot,” Glenn countered, holding the rifle out to Daryl, “Shooting from this distance with a pistol, just using the iron sights?  What if you miss and hit Cas? Or Rick? Or Shane, but not in the leg or something, what if you hit his torso? It’s risky either way. And at least with the rifle, we have more of a guarantee you won’t kill anyone.” He shook the gun between them, “And when we get back to the farm, after all this shit is over? We should learn how to make some demon repelling rifle ammunition.”

Daryl took the rifle hesitantly, and Glenn clapped him on the shoulder, his expression resolute. “I know you can do this,” he said, “for Shane, and for Cas. Just… shoot straight.”

“And aim for his feet,” T finally piping in, shrugging his shoulders at their bewildered expressions, “seems like it’d be less lethal to me.”

He knew it was ridiculous. It was a stupid plan that was never going to work, Daryl told himself as he lined up his shot, using the fence post to steady the rifle. He cursed himself for not being stronger, for putting an end to his training with Cas just because he was afraid of what he was, and what he could do. If he trusted his powers more, maybe he could restrain Mephistopheles, but as it stood he could barely do more than levitate a pencil. He had ripped a gun from Dave’s hand on instinct alone, and that was enough to make him feel like he was having an aneurism. There was no way he could hold a demon.

And this plan? It was asinine.

Through the scope, Daryl’s heart stopped as he noticed Cas was running out of time. Mephistopheles was getting more animated by the moment, and suddenly, Cas was free. He looked just as shocked as Daryl felt, sitting up and rubbing at his aching elbows, staring up at Mephistopheles as he offered him his hand.

In the middle of lining up his shot, Daryl froze, his finger on the trigger. Glenn was whispering to him, telling him to take the shot, that there was no time, and T was sitting sullenly beside him, asking no one in particular what the hell was going on, but Daryl barely heard them. All he could see, all he could focus on was Castiel, who was biting his lip thoughtfully, staring at Mephistopheles outstretched hand.

“No, Cas don’t,” Daryl murmured, his hand clenching around the barrel of the gun, “please don’t.”

But he did, and he was. Castiel took one last look at Rick and seemingly came to a decision. Getting to his knees, slowly, Cas reached out towards Mephistopheles offered palm, his fingers barely skirting Shane’s calloused skin when Daryl jerked suddenly, his finger squeezing down on the trigger as he cursed loudly. The rifle pulled up, shot fired into the sky and Mephistopheles whipped around, turning to face him, moving faster than any human should be able to, as Daryl reacted on instinct.

He was on his feet before he knew it, moving without realizing it. He couldn’t hear Glenn and T shouting at him, he couldn’t see Rick crying out, thinking Shane was just shot as he was sent flying backwards. And he didn’t see Castiel clamour to his feet, pulling his angel blade from its holster and staring down the hill at Daryl, eyes wide and afraid.

All Daryl could see was the twisting, writhing darkness of Mephistopheles as he pulled him out, wrenching him piece by piece from Shane’s body. He could see through him as he hoped the fence, walking forward at a slow, steady pace, his hand outstretched and clenching into a fist. He could feel blood running down his chin, across his clenched jaw as he focused on _pulling_ , digging his psychic claws into the demon’s incorporeal form, his _true_ form, hardly noticing as Shane convulsed on the ground.

There was smoke, dark and heady, bubbling past Shane’s lips as Mephistopheles howled in pain, and all Daryl could hear was a low, distant ringing in his ears. There was a power bristling at the surface he didn’t know he possessed, and he couldn’t begin to describe it. He didn’t know what he was doing, or how he was doing it, but he felt _alive_. He felt commanding, his very existence thrumming through his veins, and he dug down deeper, pressed harder, wrenched against Mephistopheles as hard as he could…

When something inside of him snapped, and he plummeted to the dirt below, his knees cutting through the mud.

He shot out his hands at the last second, catching himself before he fell face first in the dirt, and when he came back to himself his head was pounding worse than it ever had before. He could barely keep his eyes open, reminded of the horrible screaming burn from the Djinn dream. His lungs ached horribly, like he had run a freaking marathon, and he was inundated to the point of nausea with the coppery smell of blood and burnt electrical wiring. He whined deep in his chest, a fluttering sensation behind his ribs causing him no small amount of concern, and for some reason or another, he couldn’t feel his hands.

He still seemed to be alive though, so Daryl chalked that up to a win.

Hearing a sharp, wheezing laughter, Daryl fought to lift his head, his whole body trembling with exertion as he watched Mephistopheles, still in possession of Shane’s body, climb to his feet. Castiel was standing next to him, his angel blade hidden behind his thigh, carefully sidestepping Mephistopheles as he walked towards Daryl, hunched over in the dirt. Rick was nowhere to be seen, but Daryl could hear voices behind him, Glenn’s and T’s, and he tried to sit up straight.

“Bravo,” Mephistopheles said, clapping his hands sarcastically as he stopped directly in front of Daryl, "really, that was a great show of force. You almost managed to rip me out of my meatsuit, I’m impressed.” He crouched down in front of Daryl and tapped his chin, tilting his head back, “However, not even you can easily unseat a Lord of Hell. You need to learn your place, boy.”

With a snap of his borrowed fingers, Mephistopheles sent Daryl plummeting down to the ground, his arms taken out from under him. Daryl hit the dirt with a loud thump, his chin and nose cracking off the ground, and not even the mud was enough to soften the blow. He heard more than felt the sickening crunch of his nose as it mashed into the ground, and he felt as though he was being crushed, his whole body being pressed down with the weight of a truck, wet dirt and blades of grass bubbling up around his prone body.

Daryl tried to move, pressing up from the ground with everything he had, but he couldn’t fight it. Mephistopheles was powerful, and Daryl was so weak. He’d overexerted himself with that sudden show of force, and now his limbs were about as useless as limp noodles. He could barely muster the strength to turn his head, his broken nose sending screaming bolts of agony zipping underneath his skin and across his face. 

Mouth finally free from the mud, he gasped, struggling to breath against the awesome force bearing down on him, his fingers digging into the ground. He heard Mephistopheles talking, but he couldn’t focus on what he was saying. He could only stare straight, across the grass as he tried to fill him lungs in vain, watching as Castiel—

As Cas slowly approached Mephistopheles from behind, before dropping into a fighting stance and swinging his blade with every ounce of strength left in him.

Daryl was immediately released, and scrambled into a sitting position, hauling in deep breaths of fresh air, ignoring the pain from his nose. He wiped the mud from his face, from his eyes, and watched desperately as Mephistopheles grabbed the blade from Castiel’s hand and knocked him down, pinning him to the dirt once more.

Clamouring to his feet, Daryl was pulled down by his shoulders, as Glenn told him in a harsh whisper, “Stop! Daryl, stop!”

He was set to fight back, to pull away and force himself to his feet. Cas was pinned to the ground, struggling to stay up on his elbows and Mephistopheles brandished his angel blade… and he looked _pissed_. He was twirling it in his hands, chewing on his borrowed cheeks and glaring down at the fallen angel at his feet, taking his sweet time as he walked closer, looming over him.

But, just as he was about to stand up and rush the demon, Cas looked over at him and shook his head once. And the look on his face—he didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look confident, either, but he wasn’t afraid. He looked fierce, his jaw set firm and his eyes almost luminescent, as strong and prideful as he was when they first met. One look from Castiel, and Daryl relented, leaning back into Glenn’s hold as he watched abjectly, forcing himself to believe that Cas had a plan.

“You know, Cas,” Mephistopheles said, spinning the blade in his hand as he circled him like a vulture, “I expected more from you. This was hardly much of a fight, and even Satan’s back-up plan over there,” he gestured to Daryl with a look of contempt, “couldn’t even put a dent in my armour.”

“It’s a shame, really, but I guess you lost that spark, haven’t you, Hot Wings?” Mephistopheles laughed at his own joke, and Castiel sat up straighter, “You know, this whole time I’ve been tagging along with my good buddy Shane, here? The best part out of all of it, besides encouraging him to ruin your petty little lives and damning his soul to eternity in the pit, of course, was watching _you_ flounder and fail as a human being.” He ran his hand across his face, shaking his head in disbelief, and Daryl winced as he pointed the angel blade down at Cas, bile churning in his throat, “I mean, you really fucked up. Letting the big man out of the Pit? Failing to put him back, and swaying Michael’s vessel away from him? The _only_ one of you who could stand a chance of defeating Lucifer, and you took away his shot! And then, _then_! You practically delivered Lucifer’s weak willed little vessel to him on a silver platter! Who needs friends when your enemies will set the stage for you and play it out in your favour!?”

Glenn hissed behind him, his fingers digging deeper into Daryl’s shoulders as they watched the exchange, T and Rick right behind him, doing the same. Castiel only had eyes for Mephistopheles, looking up at him with clear, unabashed hatred burning in his eyes, gritting his teeth against his onslaught. “You are the biggest, most pathetic catastrophe in all of angelic history, I mean, at least the Morningstar made something of his failing!” Mephistopheles cried, kicking the dirt by Castiel’s feet, and Cas flinched in anticipation of a blow that never came, “You, you just simper around with these hairless apes! Pitiful… you can’t even be bothered to fight, let alone fix the mess that _you_ made!”

“You know what the saddest part is, Castiel?” The demon asked, flicking the blade back and forth, his free hand shoved in his pocket as he looked Cas in the eye, “I remember you. I saw you once. I don’t expect you to remember me, mind you, you were kind of busy storming the gates of Hell at the time. But man, do I remember you… you and your garrison, fighting through the legions of the damned, and you were all glorious, all your brothers and sisters, beautiful, the whole lot.” He sighed wistfully, leaning his head back against his shoulders and looking up at the night sky, a contemplative smile curling his lips, “It was the very first time I had ever seen an angel up close and personal, and if nothing else, you are all very pretty. Creatures of holy light and all that.”

“But then, there was you.”

Castiel sat up straighter as the demon diverted his attention back to him, his harden expression faltering as he looked over at the group of them. He scanned Daryl’s face, then looked past him to Glenn, T and Rick, his lip quivering, and Daryl realised this was it. Everyone who was here, sitting around and watching, would know from this point on that he was an angel. They (and by extension the rest of the group) would find out what he was, what he had been, and there would be no going back. 

“You shone out the brightest, a creature of pure light and righteous fire… golden bright with pitch black wings, and you were the bravest, fastest, strongest, the _best_!” Mephistopheles said, emphasizing every word with a jab of Castiel’s blade, cutting through the night air and glinting in the cold moonlight, “You were better than all the rest of them, you were the pinnacle of your race! And you beat them all, every demon, the whole way down into the Pit, to that weak, fading, damaged little soul and when you touched it? When you cradled that twisted, broken essence to your body I heard your voice ring out, clear as a bell over the noise: ‘Dean Winchester has been saved!”

“All at once, the fighting died. The battle was done, and the demons?” He wasn’t laughing now. No, Mephistopheles, for the first time that night, didn’t appear to find himself hilarious anymore. Nothing about this was funny to him, and he lifted his foot, tapping Cas’ chin with the toe of his boot, forcing him to look up, as he recalled, “They didn’t dare move against you. No, they laid down their arms and they let you fly past. They were more afraid of you than the devil himself. And the only sound in the whole of Hell in that moment? Were the souls of the damned rattling in their cages, reaching out to you and crying for absolution, because they _thought you were God_.”

Castiel inhaled sharply, wetly, and Daryl could see his eyes gleaming, brimmed with raw, hateful tears. His jaw trembled, his lower lip quivered as he glared up at Mephistopheles, and his fingers clenched in the mud. He didn’t seem to be held down any more, sitting up straighter, and Daryl realized that Mephistopheles must have lessened his hold during his tirade. But instead of trying to move, or escape, Cas was just… sitting there. Like a quavering, fleshy statue. He didn’t move.

“Look at you now. You have fallen in every conceivable way… a sad sack of meat with an expiration date like all the rest, but you used to _be_ something. Something timeless, powerful and singularly unique. And now?” Mephistopheles sighed sadly, reaching down with one hand and hauling Cas to his feet by the front of his shirt.

Castiel cried out in shock, barely managing to keep his feet as Mephistopheles shoved him backwards. His hands flew up in his defense but he froze, as Mephistopheles held the very tip of his blade to his neck, the honed point (that Cas worked religiously, so sharp it could cut steel) lancing into this stubbled throat. He stood still, and Daryl, though he wanted nothing more than to climb to his feet, to knock Mephistopheles to the ground and take whatever punishment the demon could dish out, sat perfectly still. If he moved… if any of them moved a muscle, Cas was done for.

Mephistopheles slid the blade up his throat, the metal rasping against Cas’ skin, and said, “The whole host of Heaven has turned their backs on you. I mean, what even are you?” He scoffed, tapping the blade against the tip of Cas’ nose, then his lips, and his chin, “You sure as hell aren’t an angel. No, you’re nobody. You’ve got no grace, no power, no wings and no faith. And when you take all that away, what do you have left? A weak, pathetic, mortal... monster.”

He grabbed hold of Cas’ shirt again, and Castiel closed his eyes, heaving a heavy sigh as Mephistopheles pulled the blade back, ready to skewer him through the stomach. “Don’t worry,” the demon breathed, barely audible as he whispered to Castiel, “I won’t kill you… I’m just going to maim you into cooperation. This will only hurt a lot.”

Daryl cried out, finally fighting to his feet, breaking free of Glenn’s hold as his legs protested, shaking like a newborn deer to hold his weight. “No, no, no,” ran through his head like a mantra as he panted with exertion, the climb to a standing position enough to exhaust him. His head pounded, his face ached, and he could feel think, slowly clotting blood as it dripped down his chin, but still he staggered forward, reaching out, trying to disarm Mephistopheles as he thrust the blade towards Cas’ stomach.

Castiel’s eyes snapped open, burning with a bright blue flame.

Daryl stopped in his tracks, his heels skidding in the dirt, as Castiel grabbed his knife by the blade, his fingers curling around the sharpened edges. Blood squelched around his closed fist, and Daryl winced, watching it drip down his hand, but Cas didn’t seem to notice. All of his attention was centered on Mephistopheles, who was pulling backwards, trying to tug the knife from Castiel’s grip, when suddenly, Cas pushed forwards, sending the hilt of the blade punching into Mephistopheles stomach.

The demon wheezed and doubled over, letting go of the knife, and Castiel threw it away, tossing it into the grass off to the side. He grabbed the back of Mephistopheles collar with his uninjured hand, wrenching him backwards into an uncomfortable arch, his back bowing. As the demon cried out towards the sky, in one quick strike, Cas flattened his bloody palm to Mephistopheles forehead, his eyes burning hotter than ever before, his skin glowing from the inside out, bright, golden and radiant.

Behind him, across the moonlit field, hovered the shadow of two gigantic, broken wings.

Daryl stood still, dumbfounded as Castiel’s palm began to glow and Mephistopheles screamed in agony, the flesh of Shane’s forehead blistering. “This isn’t possible!” he cried, writhing, arching backwards away from Castiel’s hand, “You’ve been cut off, you can’t possibly have any power!”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, level headed and cool, like he wasn’t burning through Shane’s body to the demon inside of it, “This feels pretty powerful to me.”

He pressed harder into Shane’s forehead and Mephistopheles cried out, before tapering off into a hideous cackle. “You’re bluffing!” he hissed, smiling maliciously up at Castiel, spittle flying from between his teeth, “You wouldn’t dare! If you smite me, then Shane dies too!”

“You want to take that bet?” Cas drawled, his eyes flaring and wings flexing behind him as he turned his attention to Daryl, who was standing only a few feet away, dumbfounded, “Daryl! The exorcism, now!”

Stunned, it took Daryl a moment to realize he was being spoken to. To tear his gaze away from the overwhelming scene unfolding before his very eyes, and snap into action. But when Cas cried out to him, he didn’t notice the way his eye s were _literally_ aflame, or the burning, churning _freaking halo_ snapping in and out of focus behind his head… he only heard the man he loved, in need, in danger, calling to him for help.

And he thanked god that Cas made him memorize the exorcism.

“E-exorcizamus te,” Daryl stammered, holding his hand up to his eyes to block out the overpowering, blinding light emanating from Castiel, “omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas.”

“No!” Mephistopheles howled, jerking backwards, flailing his limbs like and animal caught in a trap, but Castiel held firm. He was unmoveable, his heels dug into the ground. He stood stalwart as a statue, his jaw set, his grip unyielding as his palm glowed brighter. The smell of cooking meat wafted across the field, and Rick gagged behind Daryl, muttering “Oh god,” under his breath.

Daryl shut his eyes, and breathed deep, wracking his brain to remember the words, terrified to get them out of order. “Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,” he shouted, panic brewing as he realised he couldn’t recall the next line. He stammered, fishing for it but it just wouldn’t come to him, “omnis… omnis—fuck! Cas!?”

Mephistopheles cried out louder, and Cas shouted, “Congregatio!”

“Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!” Daryl yelled, back on track, “Ergo, draco maledicte.”

Castiel screamed suddenly, and the light flared too hot to handle, forcing Daryl to completely cover and close his eyes as he finished off the exorcism. “Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus,” he bellowed, and he heard Mephistopheles panting, growling in a language not their own, in a voice that wasn’t Shane’s, “audi nos!”

There was a flash of heat and light, one last otherworldly howl, and then nothing.

No light. No heat, just darkness and silence.

Daryl risked uncovering his eyes, not knowing what to expect.

Shane was on his knees in front of Castiel, awake, aware and very much alive. His forehead was burned terribly, but not beyond what was treatable… with some salve and a good clean, he wouldn’t be left with much scarring. He was staring up at Cas reverently, his palms at his sides, arms outstretched, and he looked like he was trying to speak, but he just couldn’t make out the words. His eyes were glassy, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he was focused, not even flinching when Rick ran to his side, looking him over to make sure he was alright.

Glenn and T-Dog were stunned, still kneeling in the grass behind Daryl, clinging to each others arms like a lifeline. They weren’t paying any attention to Shane, and probably hadn’t been since he was in Castiel’s arms, pinned and in agony as Cas attempted to wrest the demon from inside of him.

And Cas…

Was standing there, arms dropped down at his sides and breathing hard, staring into space.

“Cas?” Daryl asked hesitantly, and when he stepped forward Cas flinched back, bringing his shaking hands up to defend himself. Daryl had to pretend that didn’t sting as he froze in place, palms out in front of him in a show of deference. He waited, staring as Castiel breathed harder, his shoulders rising and falling with every gasp, sweat beading along his forehead.

“Oh god,” Shane moaned from his place on the ground, pushing Rick away from him and falling to the side, “I’m so sorry, fuck, _fuck!_ ” He sobbed, his fingers clawing the grass as he tried to crawl away from Rick, weak and trembling, his belly to the ground.

Castiel was no longer glowing, his eyes were back to normal and the shadowy wings that flickered in and out of focus were gone, but he didn’t look the same. He was quivering, his limbs trembling beyond his control, and he was incredibly pale. He looked frail and diminished, in spite of what he had just done, and he raised his hands to his face, staring down at his open palms with a sense of wonder and fear.

“Something’s wrong,” he whispered as he looked up at Daryl, his eyebrows knotting together, “Daryl, help—”

Surging forwards, Daryl caught Castiel as his knees buckled out from under him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he lost consciousness.


	30. The First Four Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, my goodness lol this was a joy/terrifying to write. I choose a different format, a non linear progression of time and multiple, scattered narratives to sort of encompass the confusion and all of the hurt feelings roiling around in the aftermath of Mephistopheles attack on Rick, his exorcism and Castiel's apparent angel power. A lot of the facts as they are presented are coming through secondary channels like Daryl and Shane, and snippets of things Mephistopheles has said, and the big reveal to the rest of the group (about the existence of the supernatural) takes place off camera, which I think adds to the confusion/uncertainty of it all. 
> 
> This was very experimental for me, and I would love any feedback I can get! Did you love it? Did you hate it? Did it make you want to push old ladies into traffic? Please let me know! I had a lot of fun with this chapter, and hope to continue experimenting with different styles/expanding my writing chops through this fic. I hope you all enjoy!! 
> 
> (But if you didn't, let me know ;))
> 
> Thanks!!

_Thursday, September 17 th – 8:32pm_

Hershel sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his stethoscope pressed to Castiel’s arm, just below the slowly deflating blood pressure cuff. He closed his eyes as he listened, the weight of Cas’ arm heavy in his hand, limply hanging as Cas lay unconscious beside him.

“Blood pressure 80 over 40,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and removing the cuff, “And dropping. Heart rate—” Hershel pressed his fingers to the inside of Castiel’s wrist, turning to look at the clock on the wall, “45 beats per minute.” He looked up at Cas’ face, frowning at the mask strapped across his mouth, strung up the ventilator clicking steadily beside him, “And you still can’t breathe on your own.”

Sighing, Hershel pulled the stethoscope down around his neck and stood, returning it to its spot on the bedside table, next to the rest of his hastily cobbled together medical equipment. Castiel was swallowed up on the bed, out cold and covered in blankets. He was too cold, his lips and fingers turning blue, and Hershel bit the inside of his lip as he ran through his symptoms in his head once more, trying to decipher just what was happening to him.

A sudden racket, coming through the door from the living room, startled him. There was a loud shout, the sound of another person crying, and then a big crash. The door to the bedroom shook, trembling on its hinges, the windows rattled in their frames, and one of his family photos knocked loose from the wall, catapulting to the floor. Hershel rolled his eyes with a sigh, “looks like your boyfriend’s flexing his muscles again.”

He ran his fingers up the line of Cas’ IV, checking the connection, only eavesdropping a little as he heard Rick’s voice shouting obscenities over the muffled rabble. “By the sounds of it, Rick’s not buying what he’s selling,” he said, adjusting the drip, “But really, who can blame him? I don’t want to believe what he’s saying, either.”

“I’ve always been a religious man. Went to church every Sunday since the day I was born, said grace before every meal. Had my daughters baptized and sent them to Sunday school like I was supposed to. Loved my wife and my neighbour, tried to live simply, like the bible said. I believed in a higher power. But—” Hershel pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, sitting down heavily, “I never really believed in angels. I’m a scientific man. I believed in a higher power because it helped me cope with my mistakes. To accept my failings and my faults, and to take responsibility for the things I could not face. But angels, demons, Heaven and Hell?” He scoffed, chin in hand, “That was too far fetched, even for me.

“And yet, here you are,” Hershel said, leaning forward against his knees, watching Castiel carefully, as though he would suddenly wake, as if he could hear him, “Your boyfriend tells me you’re a fallen angel, like the Devil himself, and that you did something… horrible. Shane says you let Lucifer out of Hell, and that you are directly responsible for the fact that we can no longer die, because we’ll come back as one of those… cannibal monstrosities. And you— Castiel, you’re dying, all because you are neither here, nor there. Because you aren’t human, but you aren’t an angel anymore, either.”

With a pitying frown, Hershel opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside and pulling out a small, well worn bible. “I took the liberty of looking you up,” he said, “Castiel… the name struck me as biblical since the first day I met you, but I didn’t think much of it. People name their sons Jesus, doesn’t mean they’re the son of God. But you are a son of God, the angel of Thursday, one of his first children.” He flipped through the pages absently, fanning them out, watching the words blur together, “And now you’re lying in my bed, with failing lungs and a weak pulse, human and dying of something I can’t identify.”

As the noise from the living room died down, Hershel heard a roving band of murmuring voices, moving further away from where he sat. The front door opened, shaking the whole house, and through the window he saw the porch light flick on, and off again, listening to the sound of grass crumpling as someone walked down the front lawn. The ventilator clicked, and Castiel’s chest rose and fell with it, steadily.

“You know, _today_ is Thursday… and I think I’m having a harder time believing today is _literally_ your day, than I am believing in angels. I feel like I should be sceptical, like Rick. Just being told of your existence shouldn’t be proof enough to believe, but…” he said, shaking his head, “I’ve seen so much in these past few months, things I never thought could be true. And I spent so long pretending they weren’t there, ignoring the walkers, thinking they were just sick people, because I couldn’t bear to accept that there were things in this world beyond my understanding. Things I had never faced before, and which deviated from my perception of reality. And because of that? People got hurt. Otis, that little girl, my girls… My stubborn, steadfast ignorance only caused more pain in the long run.”

There were footsteps outside, pausing in front of the bedroom door. Hershel waited, expecting whoever it was to turn the knob and enter, but the door remained shut, and the footsteps started up again. He heard them pacing, up and down the hall, just on the other side of the wall, pausing incrementally at the door. Daryl’s familiar gait, his grumbling voice as he cursed, carried through, and Hershel smiled.

“He loves you very much, you know. You’re a lucky man. I loved my Jo the same way, with everything that I had. Every fibre of my being. She was brilliant, smart and stubborn, much like you. I see a lot of myself in Daryl, and a lot of my wife in you, and I think—” he broke off in a chuckle, as Daryl started pacing again, the heavy sound of his steps marching down the corridor, “I think that maybe I have a soft spot for the two of you. And maybe that’s why its easier for me to accept that all of this is real, because the revelation is coming from you. Or, it could just be that I can’t ignore it anymore, when people are exorcising demons on my lawn, and I’m tending to fallen angels in my bed.”

The legs of his chair squeaked as they scraped along the linoleum floor, Hershel dragging it closer to the side of the bed. Reaching out, Hershel grabbed Castiel’s hand, careful not to jostle his IV, and said, “Shane told us this is the apocalypse. The biblical one, capital T, capital A. He learned it from Mephistopheles, and he says the Devil walks the earth… and you let him up here. That the walkers are your fault.” Hershel looked down at their clasped hands, Castiel’s limp beneath his own, and he stroked his thumb along the ridge of his knuckles, “You are the cause of all of this, and it was your miscalculation, your royal fuck up, that destroyed our lives. You’ve been hiding it from all of us, all this time. Even Daryl.”

“The Devil knows where we are now, after your little show with that… demon, and Daryl is certain, Shane too, that it won’t be long before he or his lackeys show up at my farm, and we are all in grave danger.” The ventilator clicked, and Hershel stared at Cas’ face warily, watching him like a hawk. He didn’t move, and he didn’t react, his head buried in a nest of pillows and blankets, unhearing as Hershel murmured, “Because of this, there are a lot of people in that room over there, who don’t care if you live or die…” he paused, and shook his head with a sad smile, “but I’m not one of them.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m old, and I’m growing soft,” he said softly, grasping Castiel’s hand with both of his, trying to work some warmth into his cold, clammy skin, “But, I think its because I don’t want to be a hypocrite. All my life, I’ve been preaching the word of god at my dinner table, teaching my girls to love thy neighbour, to honour thy father and mother. To do unto others, and turn the other cheek.”

“If what Shane says is true, Cas, and you did damn the entire human race? Then we are not friends. I don’t know if I could ever understand what you have done, not really, and I don’t think anything you could ever say in your defense could justify the outcome. The loss.” He shrugged, “However, I would never turn my back on you, not when you’re in need. And I would never deny you the chance to ask for forgiveness. I’ve been letting my girls down since the beginning of all of this, and I intend to never do so again. So, with that in mind, I will do the Christian thing and I will care for you. I will keep you alive, and stay to help as best I can, because that is what is right. And knowing what I know now? That God is real? How can I turn a blind eye, and let an angel perish?”

Dropping Castiel’s hand back onto the bed, Hershel stood with a groan, his knees cracking on the way up. The noise outside had died completely, even the pacing had stopped, as Daryl found somewhere to sit along the wall in the hallway. All he could hear now was the click of the ventilator, the blankets rustling as Castiel’s chest moved with each forced breath, and one of his girls sniffling in the living room.

Moving to the door, Hershel paused with his hand on the knob, and said, “I’ve made mistakes too, and in my time on this earth?” Casting a cursory glance over at his patient, Hershel’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he felt so much older than he ever had before as he said, “If I’ve learned anything, its that no one man is beyond forgiveness.”

 

_Thursday, September 17 th – 10:20pm_

Castiel sank into the mountain of blankets surrounding him, his face pale underneath the respirator mask. With his hands laid flat atop the blankets and his arms straight down his sides, if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, timed out to the clicks of the ventilator, Lori would have sworn he was dead.

She sat in the large papasan chair in the corner of the bedroom, her knees pulled up to her chest, and a small orange bottle of non-descript pills in her hand. Staring viciously across the room at Castiel, she rolled the bottle, over and over, letting the rattle of little yellow pills drown out the huffing of his chest as air was forced into and out of his chest at regular intervals.

She had been sitting there a long time, silently. There had been moments when she opened her mouth, words of anger and heart ache ready to tumble past her lips, but even then, she couldn’t manage to give them voice. She was petrified, stuck curled in a ball in the worlds most uncomfortable chair, watching a man she had trusted with her life, and the life of her family, slowly waste away. She could say nothing, because no words felt big enough, impactful enough to express the depth of her hurt.

She decided to keep it simple, in the end.

“So, this is all your fault, huh?” Lori asked, gripping the bottle in her hand tight.

She paused, waiting for a response she knew wasn’t going to come, and scoffed. “I’ve been sitting here for half an hour, thinking back on everything you’ve ever told me, trying to figure out if any of it was true, what was real and what was a lie. Everyone else, well—”

Casting a glance at the door, she said, “Not everyone, but the few who decided they can’t just leave you behind are in the living room, reading over your portable library of occult books. I think its Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, of all people, Daryl and Hershel decided to stay behind with you. The rest of us are leaving in the morning, the second the sun comes up.”

Her voice cracked around the end of her sentence, and she cursed, roughly wiping away the tears that were threatening to roll down her cheeks. Lori groaned in frustration, throwing the bottle of pills to the floor and sitting up straight, uncurling herself. She had sat there for so long, collecting herself so she _wouldn’t_ turn into a blubbering mess. She was angry, furious. Those were the feelings she wanted to acknowledge, the ones she could handle addressing. She shouldn’t _be_ crying, and she sure as hell _wasn’t sad._

“Shane told us what you and the Winchesters did. Apparently, when he was possessed, he knew everything the demon knew, and he learned about Lucifer. He doesn’t know why you did it, but he knows you let the Devil out of hell, and you kick-started the fucking apocalypse.” Her words flew past her lips with the force of a bullet, and she found herself hoping they stung as they hit, “He also found out that the walkers? They’re infected with some kind of demonic virus, and you don’t have to be bit to turn into one. When we die, all of us, we’re all going to turn into walkers, no matter what. Some curse he said, something to do with Pestilence, the fucking _horseman_ of the _apocalypse_!”

A loud slam of the front door drew her attention out the window, and she turned her head to look through the dusty pane. The porch light flicked on, illuminating Rick as he ran down the steps and into the lawn, his fingers laced behind his head and his posture rigid. Daryl was hot on his heels, taking the steps down two at a time, shouting, barely audible through the thick glass window. Rick wheeled around, his finger pointed, ready to jab at Daryl’s chest when the porch light cut out, the rest of the scene barely illuminated by the bright red, eerie sky.

“Rick isn’t handling this well,” she murmured, and then corrected, “None of us are. We just learned that we’re in the middle of the biblical apocalypse, and that, thanks to you flashing your angel powers around, Lucifer is going to be gunning for this farm really soon.” She shook her head, a mirthless chuckle bubbling, unbidden, from deep in her chest, “And Daryl told us about his visions, how he’s been seeing the Devil? Too little too late, don’t you think?”

As her feet on the floor, she looked down absently as her toe stubbed the bottle of pills, and she watched as it rolled across the floor, rattling like a snake. “It’s kind of funny…” she said, not looking up from the bottle, her hands clenching into fists atop her knees, her shoulders hunched and wound so tight, she felt she might snap in two, “I’m upset—” a pause, and then “no, upset isn’t big enough. I’m fucking furious with you, but for some reason, its not because you started the apocalypse. Granted, I’m not thrilled to hear that we’ve been living with the… _thing_ responsible for destroying the world, but I’m not mad at you for that. I wish I could be, but I’m not. What I’m really pissed off about? You fucking lied. You kept this from me, all of it! And for what? I-I wish you could answer me, _damn it_!!”

Standing suddenly, Lori kicked the bottle of pills as hard as she could, sending it flying, bouncing off the dresser and rolling under the bed. The angry voices outside stopped at once, and looking out the window, she noticed Rick and Daryl still on the lawn, watching her as she stood fuming in the middle of the room. Inhaling deeply, she walked over to the window, catching her husbands eye, before closing the curtains.

“You never told me about Shane, even after you learned I had been sleeping with him. After you found out he was possessed, why wasn’t I the first person you told?” She asked, fingers clutching the heavy, floral print curtain tightly, “My husband almost died tonight because you kept that to yourself, and for what? To protect me? To keep me from asking questions you didn’t want to answer? You never told me about what you did either, and I don’t know why. Maybe you didn’t want to be held accountable, or maybe you were afraid that we wouldn’t want you around after we knew… but it wasn’t right to keep that from us, Cas. From me.”

“Did you not trust me?” Turning, Lori walked towards the bed, sitting down beside Castiel, “You’re my best friend, Cas. I love you like family, and I trusted _you_. Even though I knew you were hiding something, this whole time, I just assumed you would tell me when you were ready. And I never pushed it, never tried to make you tell me, because I thought you cared enough about us, that you would never keep something from us that would put us in danger.”

“But you did. Shane has been… he’s traumatized, and he’s been doing the same to the rest of us. He could have killed any one of us, and he did— he killed Otis. He tried to kill Rick. You kept that from us, and we suffered for it. And the Devil? The end of the world, how could you hide any of that from us?”

“You only ever thought of yourself in all of this. You wanted to hide from your guilt, to hide from your responsibility and you didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire, did you?” Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, and she could no longer be bothered to keep from crying. She shook her head, brows knotting and jaw set, as she watched Castiel’s unmoving, unconscious face. He looked small, so fragile swaddled in his pile of blankets, that she never would have guess he was six feet tall. He looked half dead already, and she ignored the angry twang of grief as it plucked at her heart, when she remembered he was actually, probably dying.

“You had so many opportunities to talk to me,” Lori said, reaching out to grab his hand, squeezing tighter than she ought to, “just this morning— I was right there! And you said nothing! More than nothing, we were sitting right here in this room once, and I asked you if you knew where the walkers came from. You looked me in the eyes, and you said no! Do you not respect me? Trust me? Did you not think I could handle the truth? That’s it, isn’t it? You— You’re an angel, or you were… or are, I don’t know, but you weren’t human. And you still think… you think you’re better than us. You think you know better, but you don’t know anything Cas!”

Throwing his hand back to the bed, she turned, feet planted on the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the gaudy floral wallpaper and hardwood panelling of Hershel’s bedroom wall. “You didn’t even trust me enough to tell me you have a problem. How long have you been taking those pills? Weeks? A month? Since before you got here? I thought we were friends.”

“So, you know what? I’m hurt, I’m tired, and I’m done. I hope Daryl and the others can find a way to save you Cas… but I’m not going to be here when you wake up,” Lori stood swiftly, smoothing the front of her jeans with her sweaty palms, and exhaled smoothly, “I really do wish you the best, and I still love you. But we’re not friends.” She smiled sadly, wiping the tears from her cheeks, and asked, “How can we be, when I don’t even know who you are?”

_Thursday, September 17 th – 9:45pm_

Shane had stared at the door to Hershel’s bedroom for so long, he could probably remake it from memory.

He’d been standing in front of it, raising his hand to the door handle every now and again, only to let his arm fall back to his side in defeat. He didn’t know who was in there, but he could hear them murmuring through the crack in the door, and he didn’t want to interrupt. He knew he should just head outside, have a cigarette (he’d quit when he was in college but he was certain, after the night he’d just had, no one would begrudge him one smoke), and wait his turn, but there was something itching at him, underneath his skin.

He had to see Castiel again.

Sighing, he ran his hands over his head. The brass door knob seemed to be staring, reflecting a warped version of himself back at him, and he watched the movements of his hands in its reflective surface. He saw them skip over his short, buzzed hair, lingering on the scar along his hairline. He watched as his fingers skipped over the bandage taped to his forehead, as small as Hershel could get it but still comically large. It had to be big enough to cover his burn, after all, which was the size of a grown man’s full hand.

He needed to see Castiel.

Bolstering what little courage he had left in him, Shane gripped the door handle firmly and turned it, the door sliding open soundlessly. He slipped into the room, closing it behind him, and when he looked over at the bed, he was both surprised and not.

He was surprised to see that Daryl hadn’t noticed him come in.

He wasn’t surprised to see that it was Daryl there in the first place.

Lying on the bed, up against the headboard, Daryl had his back half turned to where Shane was standing. He didn’t move or say anything to indicate that he even realized Shane was there, instead he just continued to push Castiel’s hair back from his face, and murmur to him under his breath.

Shane could barely make out what Daryl was saying, and he knew he shouldn’t want to. This was private, it wasn’t a moment he should have intruded on, nor were Daryl’s words meant for him. They weren’t to be heard by anyone but Cas, who lay beside him, unconscious, face slack beneath the ventilator mask. He knew he should turn and walk out of the room, or at least let Daryl know he was there, but he couldn’t move. He was stuck, breath caught in his throat as he watched Daryl’s shoulders tremble, his fingers skip along Castiel’s sharp cheek.

But he had to see Cas.

“So, they lock him in their basement,” Daryl murmured quietly to Cas, “with their brother, Sloth, who looks messed up, but he’s actually really nice. They keep him chained to the wall, and Chunk sorta wins him over with candy bars. They become friends, and Sloth breaks their chains, so they can go after the rest of their friends and save them from the asshole Fratelli’s.”

Shane snorted reflexively, trying to hold back the laugh that had bubbled out of his chest once he realized what Daryl was doing, “Are you telling him the plot of The _Goonies_?”

Daryl jumped up immediately, untangling himself from Cas and moving to the other side of the bed like Castiel was on fire. “The hell you doing here?” he snapped, avoiding the question, and Shane politely ignored his red rimmed eyes as he shrugged.

“I, uh— I came to give you a break. Glenn and Hershel are floundering out there with those books, man, and they could really use your help.” Shane said, and cocked an eyebrow, “You know most of them are in Latin, right?”

Daryl scoffed, and looking back at Castiel, he seemed to be torn between reaching for him and getting up off the bed. In the end, Shane realized he must really have been having a hard time, because he chose to reach over and stroke Cas’ temple lovingly on last time, before rearranging his blankets and standing up.

The moment he was on his feet, the bed and Castiel separating him from Shane, the old, predictable Daryl was back. His jaw set firm and a look of haphazard determination on his face, he quipped, “Yeah well, Cas speaks all languages, so when he was picking what books to take with him from Chitaqua, universal literacy wasn’t really on his mind.” He rolled his eyes, “But they’re easy enough to get through if you look for the root words, and there’s still that angel book, right?”

“It may as well be in a different language too,” Shane said, stepping closer to the bed, his shins brushing up against one of Cas’ many blankets, “Hershel seems to be able to make some sense of it, but it reads like a textbook to me. We’ll find something soon, though. How is he?”

Daryl shot him an odd look, pausing a moment before he answered Shane, like he was caught off guard. “More of the same,” he said, flicking Cas’ IV bag pointedly, “Doesn’t respond to nothing, breathing is stable, but that’s on account of the ventilator. His pulse is weak, but steady, not dipping any lower, thank Christ. Hershel says there’s nothing outwardly wrong with him, other than… you know, he’s dying, for some reason. His heart’s just slowly giving out.”

Shane grit his teeth. “We’ll figure this out man,” he said, “He’s gonna be just fine.”

He found himself on the receiving end of that weird look, again, and Shane suddenly felt very small, like he was being observed under a microscope. Daryl’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, sucking his teeth derisively before asking, “What’s your deal?”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked.

Daryl gave him a blank stare that meant he knew, that Shane knew exactly what he meant. Despite that, and on the tail end of Shane’s persistent silence, Daryl sighed and elaborated for him, “I mean, since when do you give two shits about Cas? You two ain’t never been close, and Mephistopheles or not, you did try to strangle him just a few days ago, so… what gives? Why are you suddenly on his team, knowing what you know? Knowing what he did?”

Ouch, Shane thought to himself. He’d forgotten about his altercation with Castiel in the woods.

Biting his lip, Shane paused for a moment, thinking. “He saved me,” he said at last. “He didn’t have to, but he did. He had his knife on him the whole time, the weird silver one? It can kill demons, but it kills the host, too. Mephistopheles always had his eye on it, since the first day he started talking to me, and it was one of the things he was always pestering me about… ‘get that blade away from the angel.’ Cas never tried to use it tonight, though. Sure, he tried to knock me out, tried to incapacitate me with it, but he never once tried to kill me. Not even when I was going to kill him, or you. And what he did—”

Shane pointed to the bandage on his forehead.

“This could’ve been a whole lot worse. He could have smote Mephistopheles right out of me, destroyed him completely, and tied up all those loose ends, nice and neat. I would have died, though. My brain would have fried in my skull, and I’d be gone. Instead, Cas took a risk and only held Mephistopheles with his power, a threat he couldn’t fight against as you exorcised him. And now, Mephistopheles is back in Hell, no doubt telling Lucifer all about you, Cas, this farm… it was risky, and stupid. I didn’t deserve it, but he spared me all the same.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, he’ll do that,” he said, glibly, looking down at Castiel, “It doesn’t bother you then, that he basically started the apocalypse? That he’s the whole reason we’re all in this mess?”

“Hell no!” Shane said, and Daryl jerked backwards, surprised at his vehemence, “Daryl, how could I even begin to blame Cas for fucking up? For making a mistake?”

Still looking at the bed, at Cas, Daryl gnawed at his thumbnail, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He looked wary, like he wasn’t certain Shane was telling the truth.

Shane leaned forward, resting his palms on the bed as he looked up at Daryl, catching his eye. “It _was_ a mistake, Daryl,” he said with total certainty, “And if I’d have known how everyone else would take it, I would have waited to tell them about Cas’ involvement. I never thought they’d ostracise him like this, or turn their backs on him. I know they’re scared, but— I saw _everything_ , you know? While I was locked away I had access to all of Mephistopheles memories, everything he’d ever seen and done… and how he felt, too.”

“He didn’t hate Cas, and he didn’t think he was pathetic, not really,” Shane said, and he felt himself pulling away, his eyes glossing over as he could almost feel the rapid-fire intensity of being a part of that _thing, “_ He pitied him, thought he was tragic, because Castiel really and truly fucked up. He was trying to do something good, something to save humanity but it was a risk, and he failed. He had good intentions, but applied them poorly, that is all. So how could I punish him for how things turned out?”

Standing up straight, and crossing his arms over his chest, Shane chuckled humorlessly. “The only other person who has fucked up worse than Cas?” he said, “Is me.”

When he looked back up at Daryl, Shane didn’t know what he was expecting. More of the same, the steely faced, unfeeling, patented Daryl façade, probably. That’s not what he got. When he looked up at Daryl, he looked more open, more unguarded, than Shane has ever seen him. He looked wounded, and frightened, and so much older than he was. He looked tired and helpless.

But only for a moment.

It was as if someone had slammed down a fire door, cutting off any emotion other than passivity, and Shane would have done a double take if it weren’t so typical. When Daryl looked down at Cas one more time, fixing his hair absently, his carefully cultivated mask was back in place. “Do you really think they’ll all leave him to die?” Daryl asked.

“No, man.” Shane said, “They’re good people, they’re just scared. They just need to time to adjust, and they’ll come around. Not everyone can take to this shit like a duck to water, not like us, you know?”

That brought a smile to Daryl’s face, at least. With one last brush of his knuckles against Cas’ temple, Daryl walked past Shane to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hallway. “Shane,” he called, and Shane looked over his shoulder at him, watching as he hovered in the doorway.

“Yeah, man?”

“For what its worth… you and me? We’re good.”

Shane smiled.

“Damn right,” Shane said, waving him out of the room with one hand, “Now get out of here, and find something to save this stupid fucker.”

Daryl shut the door behind him (though not without flipping him the bird, first), and the instant Shane heard him walk away down the hall, he reached over and locked the door.

Finally, Shane thought to himself, sighing heavily as he took a seat next to the bed. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the edge of the bed, forearms skirting Cas’ side, and resting his head on his arms he let himself really look at Castiel, for the first time since he entered the room. He let his gaze wander, stumbling up the length of his long, bundled up legs, his bare forearm to his rolled-up shirt sleeve, across his shoulders as they sank into the pillow, to rest on his relaxed, sleeping face. Shane looked him over, cataloguing, observing him like a new species of insect, before murmuring, “Mephistopheles was right, Cas. You were absolutely beautiful.”

“And if I think hard on it, I can still kind of see you, the way Mephistopheles saw you in Hell.” He said, running his fingertips along the inside of Cas’ bared forearm, skirting his IV and dipping underneath the rolled-up cuff of his button up, “I don’t know how to describe you, how to put into words how brilliant you were… just that you were _light_. Bright, warm light, comforting and terrifying and… right. You felt like goodness, righteousness personified, and when I looked at you I felt like I was at peace, like I was home, right where I belonged for the first time in my life. I saw that in his memory, and when I came to you were there, holding me in your arms, and for a while I could still see you. I saw your light, but it was dying before my eyes. Diminished.”

Before he could think about it, and stop himself, Shane shifted onto the bed, sitting next to Castiel as he pulled down his blanket. Shane tugged at it gently, trying not to disrupt him as much as possible as he uncovered him, rolling it downwards to his hips. He ignored that little voice in the back of his head that told him to back off, to leave, as he slowly unbuttoned Cas’ shirt, reverently, one by one. For each inch of tanned, taut flesh that was revealed, Shane felt a pang of guilt twist in his gut, but he was like a man possessed. He couldn’t stop, until the last button popped free, and he smoothed both of his palms up Castiel’s naked torso, feeling how cold he was, his skin clammy and damp with sweat.

“When I came back to the surface, when I was in control of my body again, I couldn’t tell you apart from Mephistopheles memory of you. It wasn’t until you faded, your power draining, that I saw the difference. You aren’t a creature of holy light anymore. You still have a piece of that being inside of you, and I think you always will, but you’ve changed,” Shane breathed shakily, running the tips of his fingers down Cas’ chest, flattening his palm against his stomach, and moving back up, “You’re not an angel, not that being I saw decimating demons with your brothers and sisters in hell. Not the creature that terrified Mephistopheles with your power. You’re just a man, now. This is meant to be your punishment, I guess, for what you did. You’re human, mortal. And you will live and die with us.”

Shane circled the lines of a shallow, circular scar that spanned Castiel chest, scraping gently with his nails. He stroked across his skin, clinically, observationally, feeling the tapping of his heartbeat, and the steady rise and fall of his lungs. He felt him, and he wondered at him, wondered how a being so grand, so majestic could possibly fit in such a tiny, limited form.

Biting his lip, Shane leaned forward and pressed his cheek to the center of Cas’ chest. Hesitating, he hovered inches above, Shane’s stubble catching on his smooth, soft skin before he let himself fall into Castiel, resting his cheek just about his heart.

Instantly, he felt it. Weak as it may have been, it was steady, a predictable thump-thump, thump-thump, that brought tears to his eyes. Sniffling, Shane dropped his weight down, lying half on top of Castiel, any thoughts of how much shit he’d be in if someone saw him like this banished from his mind, the instant he heard the rhythmic beat of Cas’ heart.

He pulled in, hands grappling at Cas’ sides in some kind of desperate, clinging hug. “I’d never call you fallen,” Shane said, his voice wet and cracking, emotions he didn’t have a name for welling in his chest, “I’d never call you less than what you were, not ever, man.”

“I’ve seen what you used to be, and fuck yeah, it was awesome. But it was too much, something to be looked at but never touched. You as an angel sought the means to an end, and you stopped at nothing to complete your goal. The angel you were would never have hesitated to smite Mephistopheles, regardless of whether or not I would die. It would be better for me to be sacrificed… it would serve the greater good.” Shane sat up, wiping at his eyes hastily as he looked up at Castiel’s face, his lips drawn into a frown even in his sleep, and said, “You as a human, though? You’d say “fuck the greater good.” That’s why you did it, isn’t it? Why you and the Winchesters took the risk and tried to defeat Lucifer yourselves? Because otherwise, millions would die. And to you, a falling angel who had begun to feel… one with emotions and a relative sense of right and wrong… just one human life lost would be too many.”

“I can’t say if that was the right call, just like I can’t say that sparing me and letting Mephistopheles live was right, either.” Shane said, stroking the back of his hand along Cas’ cheek, his knuckles knocking off the respirator mask, “But I can say this: you’re a good person, Castiel. And you are a better person than you were an angel. This body—”

He paused, bringing the covers back up again, tucking them around Castiel’s arms, and amended, “Jimmy Novak… as an angel, you ruined his life. As a mortal, you have perspective. We’re not just ants to you anymore, each one of us is important. You understand better than you ever did, that we are not just the sum of our parts. We are individuals, with lives and experiences as complex and intricate as the next.”

Shifting closer to the head of the bed, Shane reached out with a shaky hand, drawing his thumb across Castiel’s forehead, a strange parody of a benediction. “Now, you’re one of us. And I will fight for you, tooth and nail, Cas, I will fight. I understand you, and sure as your heart is still beating I will do everything in my power to help you keep it that way. I forgive you, for everything you’ve done. I have to, because—” hauling in a deep breath, Shane closed his eye’s tight, “Because I have to believe that people like us, who have fucked up beyond belief, can be forgiven. If I can forgive you, then maybe… maybe you, and maybe… maybe them. Maybe you can forgive me, too.”

Before he lost his nerve, Shane leaned forward, pressing his lips to Cas’ forehead in a soft, chaste kiss. His whole body trembled, his head swam with memories that weren’t his own, and his heart ached with the weight of everything he had done, but with that small, insignificant point of contact, Shane felt a spark of lightness. Not enough to quell the horrid, miserable feelings that coursed through him, but enough to give him hope that one day, he might not feel like he was drowning in them.

A sudden knock at the door shook him out of his reverie, and he jumped to his feet, crossing the room in seconds. His heart pounded, and for a moment he worried he’d been caught, that somehow, someone had heard or seen everything he’d just done. But the door was still locked, the person on the otherside still knocking gently, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. With one last, pitiful glance at Castiel, still lying unconscious, still looking so strangely small, Shane unlocked the bedroom door, and slipped past Maggie and Glenn without a word.

 

_Friday, September 18 th – 12:00am _

Carol diligently wiped Castiel’s forehead down with a wet rag, mopping up the beads of sweat as they formed and smoothing over the creases of his tense brow. Mercifully unconscious once more, Castiel was clearly still in agony. Writhing on the bed, his sheets knotted and tangled around his legs, he was breathing fast and heavy, huffing like he couldn’t catch his breath, despite not having moved since he was brought into the farmhouse, unconscious and unresponsive. He was curled onto his side, assuming a fetal position instinctively, his knees drawn almost to his chin, and when Carol accidentally pressed too hard against his shoulders, he rolled further onto his side, almost on his stomach, howling in pain.

Muttering a hasty apology, Carol dropped the rag into the bowl of cool water next to her chair, letting it splash over the floor. “You know,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, if you hadn’t done what you did, my daughter might still be alive.”

“But, so would my husband.” Tilting her head side to side, she pursed her lips and stared at him. She tried, honestly she did, to be angry with him. She had thought of everything that was, and had been, and could have been, if the world hadn’t ended. If this strange creature, dying on the bed in front of her, hadn’t started the apocalypse. And yet, she couldn’t muster up the energy, “She lived a good life. Ed got what was comin’ to him. And honestly? If none of this would’ve happened? I’m pretty sure Ed would have killed me. He would’ve hurt her. And I would never have known I was strong enough to do something about it. What’s done is done, Castiel, and I don’t see any point in punishing you for what can’t be changed.”

Watching his face, contorted in pain as he rocked back and forth on his side, Carol frowned and picked up the wet rag once more. “Besides,” she said, wiping the rag across his bare shoulders, and down the back of his neck “it seems like this is punishment enough. What did you do to yourself?”

She worked methodically, wiping down his neck and to his back, until she leaned over to get a better look at his shoulders. She blinked twice, processing what she was seeing, before her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and she hollered for Lori.

_Friday, September 18 th – 12:15am_

“Are the scars new?” asked Andrea, staring at Castiel’s back with a look of morbid curiosity.

Lori shook her head, standing beside Andrea and looking at Cas’ back with the same curious intensity. “No, he’s always had those. Everything else though,” Lori said, gesturing to the large swaths of bruising, (so dark and viciously purple, that they almost looked black), and the angry streaks of red leeching out from the centre of his scars, “that’s new. You’re saying he can’t move onto his back?”

Her question was directed at Carol, who was stroking Castiel’s hair tenderly, a pitying expression on her face as she tried her best to comfort him. “He won’t even let me touch his back,” Carol said, “He’s barely conscious, passes out from the pain most of the time, and when he’s lucid he can’t speak. He just looks at you like a wounded animal.” Looking up at the two women on the opposite side of the bed, Carol said pleadingly, “Lori, he’s terrified.”

“As he should be, with the Devil staring down our backs.” Lori said bitterly, “We’re all terrified.”

Andrea scoffed, rolling her eyes in disgust and Lori turned to her, snapping, “Is something about this funny to you?”

Shrugging, Andrea crossed her arms and said, “Not funny, just surprising. I didn’t peg you for being gullible. Selfish, maybe, but not gullible.”

The room fell silent, a sudden tension springing to life that wasn’t there before. Carol’s hand froze, still tangled in Cas’ hair as she watched Lori and Andrea cautiously. They stood still, only feet apart, but they may as well have been circling each other like animals, with the way they looked at one another. The clicking of the ventilator and Castiel’s laboured, fast breathing faded into the background, Lori’s voice cutting through the air like a knife, as she demanded, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Alright,” Andrea said, and the tension that coiled around them snapped like a thread, “I don’t believe a word anyone has said all night. I think something strange happened out there in the woods that got Castiel hurt, and now everyone is jumping on the tails of Shane’s fucked up delusion. He’s clearly been in the midst of a mental break for a while now, and we’re all right there with him… so, maybe you’re all just cracking under the pressure, looking for something to blame.”

“So, your answer is we’re all having some kind of collective nervous breakdown? Hallucinating angels and demons and monster in the woods?” Lori huffed, throwing her hands up in disbelief, “ _That’s_ the most asinine thing _I’ve_ heard all night.”

“Better than believing in the freaking bogeyman! Or better yet, _Satan_.” Andrea shook her head, staring at Lori incredulously, “You’re a smart woman, Lori, how can you believe that the Devil is after us? That Shane was possessed by a demon, and Castiel is a fallen angel? It doesn’t make sense!”

“I can believe it, because I’ve _seen_ it!” Lori said, running her hands through her hair in frustration and stalking across the room. She paused at the foot of the bed, turned and pointed out of the window, “I was with Castiel when he found Daryl in the woods, trapped by the Djinn. I watched Cas kill it.”

But Andrea wasn’t convinced. “And you’re certain it was a… mythical genie?” She asked, glibly, “That it wasn’t just… I don’t know, a _person_?”

Lori shook her head vehemently, “No, she had Daryl tied up, she was draining his blood—”

“So? Maybe she was just crazy!” Andrea shouted, throwing her hands out at her sides, “Maybe, she was just a person who had been out in the woods alone for too long and snapped. Did you see her use any magic? Did she grant you three wishes? Did you see her do _anything_ that would indicate she was _anything_ other than human?”

Lori glared at Andrea from across the room, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “She had tattoos,” she said, and winced as Castiel cried out in pain from the bed.

“Lots of people have tattoos,” said Andrea, matter-of-factly.

“Hers came and went. They moved on her arms like water, and when she tried to poison Cas, they glowed. When she died, they disappeared, snaking off of her arms like they were never there, and her eyes burned bright, bright blue.” Heaving a great sigh, Lori ran a hand over her mouth and said, “She wasn’t human Andrea, and neither is Cas. How can you be so obstinate, when there are clearly things in this world that we don’t know about, that we don’t understand. The walkers, for instance. I wish I knew how to convince you of the truth.”

“This isn’t the _truth_. It might be your truth, but its not mine!” Andrea shouted, and both Lori and Carol jumped at her sudden intensity, “There is no such thing as God. There are no angels, demons or monsters. Satan is not coming to this farm to collect Castiel, and those people out there aren’t going to save Castiel with whatever fake spells they find in those creepy old books, because none of it is real. It’s make believe, and it always has been. Religion is fiction. Its just a story people tell themselves when they can’t handle how futile, small and fragile human life truly is… and when people start believing in it? Start thinking all of the fairy tail magic of it is real? That’s when it becomes dangerous. It’s what drives people like you to leave people like him—” she pointed to the bed suddenly, whipped up in her fury, “to die.”

Lori balked, and Andrea swelled with a sense of vindication. “I’m leaving because my family is in danger, because Cas put them in danger.” Lori hissed, fists clenched at her sides, “He kept us in the dark for his own selfish reasons. Believe what you want, or don’t, its no skin off my back. But don’t you dare judge me for doing what I need to do, to keep my family safe.”

“Isn’t he your family?” Andrea scoffed, “Aren’t you two like Thelma and Louise? Just yesterday you would have driven off a cliff with him, but today, because of some bullshit story Shane decided to share with the group, you’re just going to abandon him? He’s in pain, Lori! He’s dying, and we don’t know why, but you would rather bail than help him!” Shaking her head, Andrea looked her up and down, “Some friend you are.”

With a gasp, Lori stepped backward, like Andrea had physically hit her. She gawked at her, stunned silent, her eyebrows knitting in frustration, and Andrea braced herself for a comeback. Some kind of retort or excuse. Instead, Lori snapped her mouth shut, her lips pursed and Andrea watched with a distant sort of fascination as her lashes fluttered, tears welling in her eyes. Lori huffed, and with a nasty glare, bit out a hasty “Fuck you,” before storming out of the room.

“Yeah, well fuck you, too!” Andrea called after her.

Sighing, Andrea slumped her shoulders and sat heavily on the bed next to Castiel. His back is getting worse, she noted. The bruising was darker, the border of it stretching out past his scars, and the swelling was bordering on painful. The thick, ropey, normally concave scar tissue was protruding, and when she hovered her hand just above Castiel’s shoulder, she winced at the heat that was emanating from him.

Carol eyed her warily, as she wiped down Cas’ brow with a damp cloth. “I don’t see why you need to antagonize her like that,” she said, “It’s not going to help anyone, its just going to get her riled up and defensive.”

Andrea shrugged, deflated. All of the fight had left her, and upon remembering Lori’s hurt, defeated expression as she fled the room, biting back tears, she was beginning to feel a little bad. Not that she would ever admit that out loud, however. “Let her be.” Andrea said, kicking her feet up onto the mattress and leaning against the headboard, “Its not like she’s going to be any use, she’s just packing her shit and getting ready to leave in the morning. Maybe now she’ll think about what she’s doing, and come to her senses.”

“You really think she’ll change her mind?” Carol asked, “You think she’ll stay?”

“Maybe,” Andrea said, watching Castiel as he rolled onto his stomach, whimpering under his breath, “I think she’ll do whatever Rick says they’re doing.”

“Why are you staying?”

“Honestly?” Andrea leaned her head back, knocking lightly against the headboard, “I might not believe in any of the make-believe nonsense Daryl and Shane have been spouting, and I won’t… I didn’t see it, and its just too—”

“But you did see,” Carol said, cutting her off, “you saw what Daryl did in that room, he collapsed the fireplace by snapping his—”

Andrea held up her hand to stop her. “Let me rephrase that,” she said, “I _can’t_ believe it. I _can’t_. If I did, if I accepted it, I think I might just lose my mind.” She laughed pitifully, shaking her head, “I’m not mentally equipped at this moment to incorporate God and the supernatural into my worldview, so please, don’t ask me to.”

Carol held both hands up in her defense, backing off.

“Right now, I’m operating on what I _know_ is real. What’s right in front of me. And do you know what I see? Castiel is suffering. He’s dying, and I can’t just abandon him.” Andrea trailed her fingertips across Cas’ sweaty forehead, brushing his hair back gently, “I went along with the group once before, let myself get caught up in the momentum of mob-rule, group-think bullshit, and then Dale died. He died thinking I was willing to let an innocent boy be executed. He died disappointed in me, and I will never forgive myself for that. Never again will I turn my back on someone in need, just because its easier than the alternative. If Lori, Rick, Maggie… if they all want to leave, then let them. They can carry that weight on their shoulders for the rest of their life, or they can bury it underneath this “we’re being hunted by the Devil” nonsense. But I won’t. I will not let Castiel’s death be another wrong that I’m responsible for.”

Carol nodded, and both women looked at Castiel as his whimpering tapered off into silence.

“Thank god,” Andrea said with a sigh, “he’s sleeping again.”

“His heartrate’s erratic. It keeps spiking whenever he wakes up…” Carol resituated his arm, fixing his IV, “Hershel gave him a morphine drip, but its not doing any good. I’m almost tempted to ask Hershel if we could put him under, but he responds so unpredictably to different drugs, I’d be afraid we’d lose him.”

Andrea looked down at his shoulders and bit her lip, “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“No, and neither has Hershel. It almost looks like an infection, but there’s no wound—”

“No, I mean the scaring. Its so… symmetrical,” Andrea said, reaching out to touch them, stopping only when Carol shot her a look and cleared her throat pointedly, “what do you think could have caused this? You can see right down to the bone.”

“His wings, most likely,” Carol said, nonplussed.

Andrea stared at her quizzically for a moment, Carol’s words going in one ear and out the other, before she finally caught on to what she meant, and laughed. “ _Right_ , his wings. Because he’s an angel,” she chuckled, “So, you think we’re all in danger here too?”

Carol nodded.

“Then why are you staying?”

“Because Castiel is my friend, and so is Daryl.” Carol said softly, patting the back of Cas’ hand and settling it back down on the bed, satisfied the IV was in place, “Because, when Sophia was missing, those two searched for her every day. They put themselves at risk trying to save her, I mean, Daryl almost _died_. And they never once, at least not out loud, gave up hope. They cared about me and my daughter, and they never gave up on her, they held out to the bitter end. So, I’ll do the same for them.”

Silence bloomed between them, spreading out from the bed and filling the room. The ventilator clicked, and Castiel’s fast, laboured breaths echoed against the old, wooden walls, while the clock on the far side of the room ticked away the minutes. It’s so late, Andrea thought to herself, he’s been in pain for so long now.

“Do you…” Andrea paused, her voice sounding far too loud in the quiet room, and Carol looked up at her expectantly, “Do you believe that Cas started all of this? That the walkers are his fault?”

For the first time since she’d come into the room, Carol leaned back and dropped the wash cloth into the bowl of water next to the bed. She sat back in the old, wooden dining chair Hershel had pulled in from the kitchen, and it bowed and creaked beneath her shifting weight. Her elbows resting on the arms, she laced her fingers together and looked down at Castiel, sizing him up as she pondered. And as that selfsame silence filled the room again, Andrea bit her lip, a nervous energy building inside of her, as if she was afraid to hear Carol’s answer.

“I don’t know,” Carol said at last, “But I’m not going to start punishing him for it, before he can state his case. I’m not going to condemn him without giving him the chance to defend himself.”

“And when he does… if he admits to it?” Andrea ventured, “your daughter would still be alive, presumably, if it weren’t for him. Could you forgive that?”

“It’s done.” Carol said with a lackadaisical shrug, trying to appear removed and uncaring, but Andrea didn’t miss the subtle downturn of her lips, or the hurt in her eyes at the mention of Sophia, “My girl is gone, and so is my husband. My mother and father, my friends and family… and there’s nothing that can bring them back. It doesn’t matter how we ended up here, its where we are now. And no amount of anger, hatred and blame is going to change that. Cas, in the time that I’ve known him, has done right by me and Sophia. He’s done right by all of us. And that’s enough for me to let bygones be, and help him when he’s in need.”

Andrea smiled, and reaching across Cas, she grabbed Carol’s hand, squeezing tightly. Carol laced their fingers, and squeezed back.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, startling both women as they tore their hands back, and turned to see who was there. T-Dog held his hands up, a sheepish look on his face as he muttered an apology. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but do either of you speak Spanish?”

 

_Thursday, September 17 th – 11:30pm_

“Hey!” Glenn yelped indignantly as Shane shoved him out of the way, but he was gone before he could see what his problem was, and besides, he had bigger problems at the moment.

Maggie had darted into the room as Shane took off down the hall, and she tried to shut the door behind her, foiled only by Glenn’s quick reflexes and his foot in the door frame. Maggie huffed and rolled her eyes as he pushed into the room, and Glenn stood helplessly by the door as he watched her stomp across the bedroom, angrily checking Cas’ vitals.

Glenn shut the door behind him, leaning up against it with his arms crossed as he waited for her to talk to him. To yell at him, or at least acknowledge him. She had been avoiding him all night, ever since Daryl and Shane explained to everyone what was going on, and Glenn couldn’t figure out why. At first, he just assumed she was freaked out, but when she started to actively ignore him, going so far as to shut doors in his face and tell him off, he started to wonder if he hadn’t done something wrong.

“You’re mad at me,” Glenn said, a statement of fact more than anything, and Maggie rolled her eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Why?”

Maggie’s head shot up, and she stared at him disbelievingly, her nostrils flaring in annoyance. She opened her mouth, poised to say something before seemingly thinking better of it, and looking down at Cas once more.

Glenn winced as she pulled at his mask, adjusting the tension on the strap none too gently, and when she tugged too tightly on his arm to check his IV, Glenn stepped in, gripping her arm and pulling her hands away from Castiel. “Some bedside manner,” he said, letting her go when she pulled away, “I get you’re mad, but don’t take it out on him! You’re pissed at me, alright? I got the message. I don’t know why, but whatever, we can talk it out. Just… be a little nicer to Cas, maybe? He is like, dying, after all.”

When she looked up at him again, he was relieved to see she looked a little sheepishly guilty. “I’m mad at him too,” she murmured, so quiet Glenn had to strain to hear her.

She turned away and went back to work, leaving Glenn standing there, completely flummoxed as he asked, “But _why?”_

She ignored him, going about her business… and then some. She finished checking Cas’ vitals rather quickly, and moved on to fluffing his pillows, fixing his blankets and fiddling with his IV bag. She meandered the room, tidying up, all while refusing to look at him. She was waiting for him to leave, he realized, and as she walked over to the closet, gathering another blanket from the shelves, he walked right up behind her, effectively blocking her escape route. If she wanted to leave, then she would have to _look_ at him, dammit!

Glenn immediately regretted his decision.

Maggie’s pupils flared when she turned and saw him there, and she immediately pushed him back, dropping the blanket to the floor and shoving him with both hands to his chest. He kept his feet, holding his hands up defensively and stumbling backwards as she snarled, “Because he ruined everything, and so did you!”

“God— you know, just this morning, I was _happy_!” Maggie cried, kicking the blanket at her feet, her lower lip trembling, “You were all staying, and we were moving you into the house. You and daddy were getting along, and we were really starting to come together as one big group. But then Cas had to go and start a fight with a demon, and now I know that we’re in the _bloody_ apocalypse, and to top it all off, the Devil is _real_ and he’s on his way here! And you!! You want to stay!? What the _hell_ is the matter with you!?”

Not having a real answer for her, and completely thrown off by her outburst, Glenn could only stare helplessly and shrug.

“And my daddy? He wants to stay, too. Because apparently, Cas isn’t just the guy who ruined all our lives, but he’s an angel. And daddy, he’s always been real religious. Took us to Sunday school every weekend since we were old enough to walk. Said grace at every meal, and whenever we came to him with a problem, he’s counsel us with chapters from the bible.” Maggie sniffed, her hands on her hips and a disappointed look on her face as she started to cry, her frustration palpable, “So, of course he wants to stay and help him, because that asshole in the bed over there reaffirms his faith, and his belief in God, so much so he’s willing to overlook the fact that _he’s_ the reason we’re all in this mess to begin with! We’re in danger if we stay here, but we can’t move the stupid angel without killing him, so my daddy is willing to die for the chance to save him. He’s going to let Beth and I go, to let us run, but he ain’t coming with us… and its all _his_ fault!”

She pointed at Castiel, her jaw clenched tight, looking at him angrily for a moment, before turning all of her anguish and fury onto Glenn. “And you? You’re staying, too,” she spat, viciously.

Glenn was at a loss for words, gaping like a fool as she pushed past him, blanket in her arms once more. He stood still, not knowing how to comfort her, what to say or what to do, as she unfolded the blanket and shook it out on top of Castiel, adding to his already sizable pile. “I’m sorry Maggie,” Glenn said, “I really am, I—”

“No, you ain’t,” she said, not looking at him, “Cause if you were, you wouldn’t be leaving. I’m a hairs breadth from blowing my lid, Glenn. I feel like I’m this close to crazy, and I can only go like, ten minutes at a time without having to face how _fucked_ _up_ this all is. Ten minutes is how long I can pretend that everything is okay.” She huffed, standing straight by the side of the bed and buried her face in her hands, “Angels and demons are real. The Devil is here, and he’s real. _God_ is real, and I don’t know how to handle that. And you’re _staying_ _here_.”

Glenn walked up behind her, hands raised, wanting more than anything to touch her. To comfort her. But he could see the way her shoulders tensed as he walked closer to her, and he clenched his fists, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wish I could leave with you. Honestly, I do. And I get it… this is a lot to take in, and you need time to come to grips with it. I did too, I just got a head start.” He said, “I saw what Daryl could do at Hatlin’s, when we went to get your dad. Since then, I’ve been working on, I don’t know, expanding my mind. Working the supernatural into my worldview, trying to open myself up to the possibility that there are things out there I don’t understand, and with the walkers, honestly? It wasn’t that much of a stretch. But I get that this is a lot for you to take in one night, and I’m sorry.”

He saw her shoulders sag, but she said nothing.

“I can’t speak for your dad. I don’t know why he’s choosing to stay behind. But I need to stay here and help Castiel, because he’s family.” Glenn ran his hand across his mouth, and said, “He’s dying, and he needs all the help he can get. Besides, Daryl and Cas are the experts when it comes to magic and shit. If this is the end of the world, then wouldn’t the safest place be here, with them?”

Maggie chuckled and shook her head, turning to face him finally, her cheeks streaked with tears and she asked, “Did you miss the part about the Devil comin’ down for dinner?”

“No, I didn’t, and yeah, that scares the crap out of me. But you know what else scares me? Walkers.” She looked at him curiously, not quite understanding what he was getting at. Glenn reached out to her, placing his hand on her shoulder, elated when she let him, and elaborated, “Being out on the road with no safe place to go, no home. Its awful out there, Maggie, you can’t even begin to understand what its like living out there with those things. You don’t rest, you don’t sleep… you’re constantly balancing on the head of a pin, and you never know if your next breath is going to be your last. And now we know there are other monsters out there too. I refuse to go back out there. I won’t do it.”

“So, you aren’t staying for Cas at all. You’re staying because you’re more afraid of walkers and boogeymen than Satan himself,” she said, stunned.

“I guess,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m staying for Cas, too.”

“ _Why_?” She demanded once more, throwing her hands out at her sides, “He’s the reason there are even walkers out there! He’s the reason we’re in this mess, and he lied to you! To all of you, he never told you who or what he was, or what he did! How can you trust him? Or even begin to want to help him?”

Glenn bit his lip thoughtfully, “Because I don’t care.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t care about what Cas did with the Devil, or about him starting the apocalypse. I don’t care about him keeping it from us, or lying to us about being an angel. I can understand why he lied, and I don’t believe he did it maliciously, either. All in all, people fuck up. They make horrible mistakes, and they suffer for them. And from what Daryl told us about Castiel? About what he’s lost, and what he’s had to go through?” Glenn paused, searching Maggie’s face for some sign he was getting through to her, and he wasn’t disappointed. Daryl had skimped on a lot of the details, but he’d got his point across, documenting Castiel’s first few years as a human for them earlier that night. “I think he’s suffered enough,” he said, “and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to die. I can’t just abandon him, and I can’t just turn a blind eye to his suffering. I refuse to go with the flow, not this time.”

Maggie glanced up to the ceiling, her shoulders sagging.

“It’s the right thing to do, Mags.” Glenn said, grabbing her hand gently and holding it, relief flooding through him when she held back, “Its what Dale would have done.”

Neither one dared to move. But they couldn’t look away. They stood next to Cas, still sprawled unconscious on the bed, his chest rising every time the ventilator clicked, just watching each other silently. Glenn squeezed her hand tighter, his heart clenching as he watched a single tear roll down her cheek, and her lower lip trembling as she held back the rest.

He wanted so desperately to comfort her, but he wasn’t good at this. He’d never done this before, had never been in a relationship like this, or been in love. There was a tenseness in the air, no longer anger or frustration, but longing. He wanted to touch her, to whisper to her and tell her she was going to be alright. That they would survive. He wanted to tell her he was frightened, but she beat him to it with a sob.

“I’m so scared, Glenn,” she cried, and something inside of him, that tense, coiling paralysis snapped. He reached forward, drew her into his arms and held her closer, her tears soaking into his shirt and her breathy sobs warm against his skin.

“I know,” he whispered into her hair, “me too.”

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you or daddy. I don’t want to leave my home, but I don’t know what to do!” She moaned against him, hiccupping over each breath she took, “I’m so scared, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know what to think! Why did this have to happen? Why is this happening to us?”

“I don’t know,” Glenn said, hot tears prickling at his eyes as he whispered to her, running his hands up and down her back, “I don’t, and I wish I did. I wish I could tell you it will get better, or that I know what’s going to happen, but I don’t. No one does. But I’ll tell you one thing: We’re strongest together.”

“If we’re scattered and divided, we’re easy to beat. We won’t stand a chance against anything: humans, demons, walkers, even the Devil. If we don’t stick together, we’re through. But if we stand united, and help each other?” He pulled back, extricating himself from her desperate hold, and cupped her cheeks in both of his hands, “We might actually stand a chance of surviving. Maggie, please don’t go. You’ll die out there, Beth too. Stay here, with me, with your dad and everyone else. Stick with us, and we will survive whatever this world throws at us. We can do it together.”

She studied him for a while, gnawing on her lip, torn between an imagined safety on the road, and Glenn’s promise that they could make it work. And after a long moment, the wall clock ticking off the seconds of silence, she nodded solemnly.

Smiling, relieved, Glenn surged forwards, kissing her gently, his hands sliding down her neck and into her hair. Maggie bowed against him, her body falling into his, all of her tense, pent up frustration and agonizing fear slipping from her, cracking and sloughing to the ground in a heap.  Her hands trembled as they gripped at the back of his shirt, and pulled her closer, spurred onwards by the quickening of her breath, the way it hitched in her throat.

Over, and over, and over…

Glenn pulled back with a frown, looking her in the eyes and seeing she was just as confused as he was. The fast, desperate breathing persisted, and it wasn’t coming from either of them.

They moved at the same time, both of them turning to Castiel, who was no longer lying unconscious on the bed. He was awake, half rolled onto his side, his eyes wide as he stared at the IV strung up to his arm, and his hands shook as he grappled at the mask on his face, pulling the tube from his throat. “Cas?” Maggie asked hesitantly, moving towards him at the same time he rolled completely onto his back.

The second his back hit the mattress, a sickening scream tore from his throat, reverberating off the walls.

Glenn stood stunned, hands hanging uselessly at his sides as he watched Castiel throw himself onto his side, his fingers clawing at the sheets, legs writhing, tangling in his blankets. His face was pale, his lips blue but his eyes were wide and bloodshot. He was terrified, howling in agony, sobbing uncontrollably and Glenn couldn’t move. Not for the first time that night, he had no idea what to do, and he found he could only watch as Maggie ran from the room, screaming for Hershel.

 

_Friday, September 18 th – 1:29am_

 

T-Dog leaned forward in the wooden dining chair, wincing as it creaked underneath him. He tried to move slow, not knowing how Hershel would react to him breaking his chair, on top of all the other shit he had to deal with that night. He rested his elbows on his knees, studying Castiel’s face as he lay on his side, perspiration beading on his forehead, his skin deathly pale and his breath coming in quick, shallow puffs. Bending down, he wrung out the water from the washcloth, dabbing at the other mans forehead delicately, unsure if he was doing it right or not. He had taken over for Andrea and Carol so quickly, out of necessity, and he really didn’t know what he was doing. He’d never taken care of a grown man before.

He stood up slightly, craning his neck to look over Castiel’s shoulders, and he gasped when he saw his back. Cas was mottled with scars, but as gruesome as that would have been on its own, it was nothing compared to the bruising and swelling. His skin was a rainbow of ugly hues, ranging from purple, to green, to yellow, and surrounding the puckered, raised ropes of scar tissue deep red, vein like marks snaked out from the very center.  His whole back was hot to the touch, so swollen it looked like someone had pumped it full of air, and any amount of movement caused him intense pain.

Well, more intense than what he was feeling constantly.

Cas was sleeping then. Thank goodness, T thought, purposefully trying to steer clear of the big “G” word, and any other word that related to or made him think of anything religious. He knew what he saw, and he knew what he heard. And that was more than enough for one night, thank you very much.

While he was up, he tugged Castiel’s blankets up to his chin, careful to only cover his front and not his back. Even the thin sheet gently grazing his swollen, inflamed shoulders was akin to torture, as Carol had found out just moments ago. He frowned as he saw Cas shaking, at the chill in his arms. How could one side of him be so incredibly hot, and the other freezing cold, he wondered.

Sitting back in his chair, ignoring the creak, T crossed his arms and leaned back. Castiel looked so weak, half naked and buried in blankets and pillows, his face swallowed up by the respirator mask and tubes sticking out of his limbs. He sure didn’t look like a centuries old, all powerful warrior of God, at least not in that moment, and T mused on that as he listened to the clicking of the respirator.

He could hear voices in the living room, floating underneath the crack in the door, or people trying to figure out what was happening to Castiel, and why. They were out there pouring over a small stack of creepy old books Daryl had brought in from Cas’ creepy old car, reading up on ghosts and spells, demons and angels. Daryl wasn’t entirely convinced they’d find anything useful in them, and half weren’t even in English, but T figured he had to try. He had to do something. It wasn’t like he could just sit around with his finger up his nose, waiting for his boyfriend to die.

T could hear footsteps upstairs, and figured it was Lori and Rick packing up their belongings. Jimmy and Patricia too, probably. Looking at the clock, he saw it was just verging on one thirty in the morning, and he thought they all best get to bed soon, if they wanted to leave at the crack of dawn like they’d planned. Lori was digging her heels in now, when she was the first one to jump on board with Rick’s plan to bail. She’d disappeared from Cas’ sickroom earlier in the night, and after a talk with her son and a fight with her husband, she’d decided she didn’t want to leave anymore. But Rick wasn’t giving in that easily, and with tears in her eyes she had reluctantly made her way upstairs to pack.

Rick had asked him if he’d be willing to go with them, and T had just shaken his head.

Why would he leave, when he had everything he needed right there?

What else was there in the world for him?

No matter where he went, he’d be in danger.

Why was this situation any different from the mess they normally found themselves in?

Besides, T liked Cas. He liked his weird little anecdotes and his goofy smile. He liked how he could go from ditzy airhead to total bad ass mother fucker in only a few seconds’ time. And he couldn’t imagine what Daryl would do without him… he’d fall to pieces, and T-Dog couldn’t let that happen.

T-Dog leaned back, arms crossed and eyes closed. He breathed deeply, slowly as he listened to the ventilator click beside him, to the clock hanging on the wall, and the windchimes tinkling on the porch outside. With a sigh, he opened his eyes, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw Castiel was awake, blue eyes open and bleary.

He wasn’t lucid, that much was certain. Cas was barely cognizant, struggling to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of narcotics that Hershel had given him for the pain. But when he looked at T, he recognized him. He knew who he was looking at, and T suddenly felt vulnerable, uncomfortably so. Like Cas was dissecting him, cracking him open and studying his insides like some freshman biology student. He felt like he was holding his breath as he watched Cas watch him, but he didn’t look away. He stared right back, and after a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Cas relaxed back into the pillows, curled up on his side.

“I guess that means I’m trustworthy, then,” T chuckled, and he reached down beside the chair and grabbed what he was calling his little ‘get well’ present. He’d found it on one of Hershel’s shelves (clearly unloved as it had been shoved to the very back) gathering dust. He saw it weeks ago, but he’d never had a reason to take it until that night.

T gingerly placed the little ceramic elf in Castiel’s open palm, curling Cas’ fingers around it so he wouldn’t drop it. It was one of the ugliest things T had every seen: the whole thing was pale blue, save for its bright red lips twisted into a saccharine grin, and its yellow blonde hair that swooped up in a single mass, like Herbie from that god-awful Rudolph cartoon. He was posed like the mud flap girl, back arched and chest puffed out, its hands stretched out behind him. It was hideous, and from the first moment T saw it, he knew it had Cas written all over it.

Castiel dropped his gaze, frowning beneath the respirator mask as he studied the ceramic figure in his hands. His brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and concentration, and for a moment T worried it was too much. Maybe he was too out of it, and that in giving him something to focus on, he was only making things worse, but all his concern flew out the window the moment Cas looked up at him and raised his brow, with all the sass and snark he could muster crammed into that single outward expression.

It was so quintessentially Cas, such a wonderful encapsulation of the person he was, the person they had all gotten to know, and T sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh of relief. He shrugged and laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. He was sick, and it didn’t look good for him, but if Castiel could manage to hang tough through it all, then T could as well, they all could.

Cas smiled weakly underneath the respirator mask, and T returned it, keeping his steadfast vigil until Cas finally fell asleep, his fingers still gingerly curled around the hideous elf. Kicking his feet up on the side of the bed, T sat back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest as he closed his eyes, listening to the ticking of the clock and the huffing of the ventilator.

 

_Thursday, September 17 th – 10:59pm_

Rick forced a smile as Lori walked passed him on the way out of Castiel’s sickroom. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze, trying to remain as comforting as he could, swallowing down any lingering resentment he felt towards her, in an effort to be kind. She returned his smile, though it was as strained as his was, and when she walked away he watched her go, up the stairs on her way to their room to pack. He watched her until she disappeared around the corner, schooling his expression until he was certain she would no longer see, and once she was gone, he let his smile falter.

With his jaw clenched tight, Rick stormed into Castiel’s room, barely restraining himself from slamming the door behind him. He felt like a threat pulled too tight, ready to snap under the pressure as he closed and locked the door, leaning against it and forcing himself to breathe normally, when every iota of his being was begging to go off. He rapped against the old, wooden door with his knuckles, focussing on the feel of the ragged grain against his skin, and the weight of it underneath his bones. He leaned back into its solid mass, his shirt catching against the shallow cracks in its surface as he pressed his shoulders into it.

The voices outside had died down. The crying had stopped, reduced to stifled sniffling and half crazed murmurs as the folks out there tried to come to terms with all they had been told. Rick himself felt like he was a hairs breadth from losing his mind, alternating between a deep desire to put his fist through the door he was leaning against, and wanting to laugh until he cried. He tried to focus on the plan, on what he had decided his next steps would be, but he could only keep his eye on the prize for so long before understanding crept in, the horrid realization that the world he thought he knew never existed, and that there were worse things in the dark that walkers and bad guys.

He chuckled, dropping his head in his hands as he grasped once again that monsters were real.

“Did this feel _right_ , Cas?” Rick spat vehemently, pushing away from the door, “Lying to us? Putting all of us in danger?”

“I can’t believe you would keep this from me.” He said, standing at the foot of the bed and glaring down at Castiel, ignoring how small and close to death he looked, swallowed up in a plethora of pillows and blankets, and focusing all his energy on his anger instead, “That you would willingly endanger us, just to avoid being blamed. You tricked us into trusting you, and this whole time… we’ve been making friends, harbouring and living with the man responsible for ending the world.”

Rick huffed, and shook his head, his hands on his hips. “All this time, and you said nothing,” he said, “You actually, _actively_ lied. You let us go to the C.D.C., knowing there would be no cure and wee lost Jacqui and Jim, all because of you! Sophia was lost, and Carl was shot ‘cause of you. We wouldn’t have been out on that highway, in those woods if it weren’t for you! You stupid, selfish, son of a—”

With a sudden burst of clarity, Rick paused, his mouth agape and his fists clenched at his sides. He laughed, half hysterical, and running a hand over his eyes he said, “I guess I shouldn’t take the Lords name in vain, should I?”

And just like that, the righteous, all encompassing fury fled from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. Sighing, he slumped into a chair by the window, dropping his head in his hands as he leaned forward against his knees. What was the point, he wondered, in yelling at a man who was unconscious and half dead? Why was he so damned angry, when Castiel probably wouldn’t make it through the night? Why did he feel so raw, so _hurt?_

“It’s because you let me flounder, all this time,” Rick said, tenting his fingers in front of his mouth, his eyes unfocused as he stared straight ahead, the gaudy damask bedspread blurring beyond recognition, “I’ve been grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to live in this world and keep these people alive, and this whole time you’ve had inside information. You’ve known exactly what was going on, who was to blame and yet you kept all that to yourself.”

He sat back, his fingers laced together in his lap, “You know, I realize now that I was right from the get go. I knew there was something off about you, something coiled in my gut, but I didn’t listen to it. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and you know, maybe you were right about one thing after all. I should listen to my instincts, right now _and_ back then. I should have kicked you to the curb the second you could leave the quarry.”

There was a flicker of light from outside, shining through the floral curtains just over his shoulder, and Rick drew them back. The porch light shone dimly over Carol and Daryl’s shoulders as they leaned against the railing, speaking so quietly that if Rick couldn’t see their lips moving, he wouldn’t know they were speaking at all. Daryl had a cigarette in his mouth, clutched between his teeth and he tried valiantly to light it, but his hands were shaking violently, and he couldn’t seem to light his match. Carol took pity on him, grabbing the match and matchbook from his trembling fingers, and in one quick stroke the match burst to light, the warm glow casting eerie shadows across Daryl’s cheeks and red rimmed eyes. Behind them, the sky glowed red.

“I’m embarrassed,” Rick admitted, not looking away from the window and tamping down the pang of guilt that burrowed in his chest as he watched Daryl inhale shakily from his cigarette, Carol holding the match steady for him, “I’m embarrassed that I ever trusted you, and humiliated that I ever went to you for advice. For thinking of you as a confidant, and for listening to you… Were you just playing me, this whole time?” He turned from the window, back to Castiel with his lips drawn in a deep frown, “Were you ever honest? What am I supposed to make of the things you’ve told me? The advice you’ve given? How the hell am I supposed to know if you ever wanted me to succeed at all, or if you were just setting me up to fail? I don’t know what to _do_ , Cas!”

His heart was beginning to pound violently in his chest, so strong he could taste it in the back of his throat. Rick ran a hand across his lips, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts, in through his mouth and out through his nose, and he asked, “Why did you save me?”

The ventilator clicked and huffed, Castiel’s chest rising and falling underneath the blankets, bobbing like a buoy against the sea of blankets. The old cuckoo clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, each click of its hands louder than the last, until it seemed as though he could hear them echo, counting in double time and reverberating off the wallpaper. The electric lamp at Castiel’s bedside hummed, fueled, like the ventilator, by Hershel’s backup generator, which chugged along in the basement just under Rick’s feet. The wind buffeted the windows gently, rattling the glass in its frame, hearkening Rick back to Hershel’s living room just hours ago, when Daryl had slammed all of the furniture against the walls with a snap of his fingers.

Rick shuddered, his head pounding with hideous implication once more.

“Why the hell did you save me from that thing inside of Shane?” He reiterated, choosing to focus on the sound of his voice, instead of his existential crisis, “And why spare him? I don’t get it, I really don’t.”

“I wish you could just wake up, and tell me your side of it. If I could just talk to you, I think I might… I don’t know,” he sighed, “I’m hurt, man. You were becoming like a brother to me, you and Daryl. You were like family. And now, I just feel betrayed. By you, Daryl, Shane, even Lori knew some of it, and she didn’t tell me either.”

Rick scoffed, that nasty, ugly anger rearing its head once more. “What, did you all think I couldn’t handle it? That I was weak? Why didn’t you tell me, Cas!” He spat, surging to his feet, “Maybe I could have— maybe we could have worked something out! But now, according to Shane and Daryl, your brother is headed this way… and fuck, man, you couldn’t have at least filled me in on the fact that your brother is the _fucking Devil_?!”

He was belatedly aware that he was shouting, but he could hardly hear himself for the pounding of his blood in his ears. His fists clenched at his sides, and he jammed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose. _Calm down_ , he reminded himself, exhaling slowly through his mouth, forcing his fingers to part. He could hear voices in the hall, curious, approaching the bedroom door. He lost his temper, he realized, he lost his cool. And he laughed mirthlessly as the thought brought Castiel’s remembered voice to his ears, the advice he’d given Rick so long ago: _“Don’t ever let them see you sweat.”_

“Alright, Cas,” Rick said, scrubbing at his tired eyes, “I get it. Maybe you were right, sometimes.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” Rick said matter-o-factly as he walked over to the door, jamming his hands in his pockets, “Lori, me and Carl. Maggie and Beth, too. Patricia and Jimmy. We’re all heading out to Fort Benning, like Shane said we should all along. We can’t stay here and wait for the Devil, and apparently, you sure drew his attention.” He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Shane says we only have a matter of days before we’re overrun by demons and walkers. But Hershel, he says we can’t move you. That your vitals are too low, and if we try, you’ll just die.”

“Obviously, Daryl isn’t having any of that, and neither is Hershel, surprisingly. They won’t leave you behind, and are studying up right now, trying to find out what’s wrong with you. T, Glenn and Andrea, too. You still got friends in them at least, and I wish I could say that… that you were still mine as well, but—”

Even as the words passed his lips, Rick was already trying to convince himself he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t still care about this… not man, not angel—not after all that he had done. It was a lie he had to tell himself, to keep his head above water, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting against the doorway as he said, “I don’t trust you Castiel. I don’t know you, and you willingly put all of us in danger. I need to keep my family safe, and now that this farm is compromised, we need to leave. Even if that means leaving you behind.”

“You made your bed, man,” he said sadly, “Now you got to lie in it.”

_Thursday, September 17 th – 8:59pm _

Daryl sat in the hall outside of Castiel’s door, watching Hershel’s shadow move under the door as he walked around the room, no doubt trying to save Cas’ life.

He’d been kicked out of the bedroom the moment he placed Cas in the bed, Hershel already fed up with his hovering and Rick already demanding an explanation on what just happened. And though he didn’t want to leave, and could barely tear himself away from Cas’ bedside, he could anticipate that he would only do more harm that good.

After all, Daryl had only been in there a minute, and watching Hershel shove a tube down Castiel’s throat had sparked a gut wrenching panic like he’d never felt before.

The explanation on what had happened went as well as could be expected… which is to say, it went horribly. There were tears, shouting, things being thrown (both physically and mentally), and the whole thing hearkened to close to the fights that took place in his childhood home, at least for his liking. Rick had been furious, the Greene girls had been terrified and Lori, the one person he thought would be on his side for the lot of it, was hurt worse than he had ever seen her.

Surprisingly enough, it was Shane who helped him out. Saddled with the insurmountable task of convincing a group of people that God was real, angels and demons existed, as did the monsters under their bed, it was verging on more than Daryl could bear. He expected Glenn and T to take the news a little lighter, having come to grips with the demon bit at least out on the lawn, but he hadn’t expected Shane’s assistance.

Turned out he learned a lot from Mephistopheles. Probably more than the demon anticipated.

It was Shane who made the connection between the walkers and the apocalypse, and it was Shane who filled in the blanks of Mephistopheles speech. He explained Castiel’s involvement with the Winchesters, and the end of the world, and he extrapolated on Lucifer’s immediate ambitions, which seemed to be: “eliminate any and all possible threats to my reign.”

It was also Shane who pointed out a powered-up angel most definitely constituted a threat.

Still, with everything laid out on the table, Daryl was pleasantly surprised with the majority of the group. The fact that Andrea, Hershel, Glenn, T and Shane were willing to stay behind and help Castiel, even though the Devil showing up on their doorstep was a very real threat, absolutely astounded him. The rest had unanimously decided to leave, and that was fine too. Daryl was just relieved it wouldn’t be him taking care of Cas, alone.

He jumped when the bedroom door opened, and scrambled to his feet when Hershel motioned for him to come inside.

“How is he?” Daryl asked, stepping into the room behind Hershel, and closing the door.

Hershel didn’t answer, and instead gestured towards the bed, wordlessly telling him to have a seat next to Cas. Daryl bit his lip, watching the old man as he puttered around the room, not certain if he was comfortable being in such close proximity with Castiel while Hershel was in the room. But even though he waited, it seemed Hershel wasn’t going to answer him without his compliance, and with a heavy, burdened sigh Daryl sat, looking down at Cas worriedly.

“There’s been no change so far,” Hershel answered, apparently satisfied, “He’s very sick, but I don’t know why, and I can’t find any extenuating injuries… so far, from what I can see? His body is just giving up.”

Hershel sat on the bed next to Daryl, a bottle of antiseptic in hand. Hardly noticing him, Daryl brushed Cas’ hair back from his forehead, startling when Hershel reached towards his nose with a damp cloth, attempting to clean some of the blood off his face. Daryl jolted backwards, his back hitting the headboard so hard it rattled against the wall as he shot Hershel his dirtiest look.

Hershel rolled his eyes and said, “I need to check if its broken, and right now I can’t see anything through all that blood and dirt.”

“You don’t have to check nothin’. I can tell you its broken, but it ain’t the first time.” Daryl said, gesturing to Castiel with a tilt of his head, “I’ll be fine. Save your doctoring for that patient over there.”

Hershel smiled, but shook his head, “If that patient were to wake up and see I left you with your nose broken, and blood caked to your face, he’d have my head on a platter. Come on now, it’ll only take a second.”

Daryl hesitated, glancing warily at the inconspicuous looking cloth in Hershel’s hand, before relenting with a sigh. Hershel scooted forward, gingerly wiping the caked-on blood and grime from Daryl’s nose, and as he worked, Daryl absently wondered how he must have looked to the rest of the group, preaching that angels were real while covered in mud with a busted nose. He chuckled at the mental image, and Hershel cast him a curious glance, though thankfully he didn’t ask him what was so funny as he applied a butterfly bandage to the worst of the cuts on Daryl’s face. He didn’t think he could handle explaining how much he reminded himself of a drunk and rowdy Merle in that moment.

Hershel nodded at his handiwork, seemingly satisfied. “That’s better,” he declared, and rising to his feet he asked, “I assume you’d like some privacy?”

“What, you don’t have to do anything more with him?” Daryl asked, watching him in confusing as Hershel paused just in front of the door. 

“He’s stable, for now,” Hershel said with a shake of his head, “There’s nothing more I can do until we figure out what’s wrong with him. Right now, the best thing I can do is head out to the living room and try to make sense of those books you brought us. God willing, we’ll find the answer to Castiel’s mystery illness in there somewhere, and then I’ll be of service once more.”

Suddenly, faced with the responsibility of watching over a dying Castiel all on his own, Daryl panicked. His stomach twisted itself into knots as he realized it was something he had never really done. He’d looked out for Cas when he was injured by the wendigo, tending to his wounds, but that was physical. Something he could slap some stitches and a bandage on and call a day. And yeah, he’d helped Cas through the worst of his withdrawal when they first met, but they were strangers then, and it wasn’t as if Cas was going to die from being junk sick.

Now though? Castiel was hovering at deaths door, straddling the thin line between living and dead, and Daryl was drowning under the weight of his own expectations. “What— what should I do?” he asked, looking back and forth between Cas and Hershel, feeling helplessly defeated, “I mean, is there anything he needs, or, do I… what do I do?”

Hershel stared at him, stunned. “Just sit with him,” he said slowly, as if he were surprised to have to explain something so stupidly simple, “Be here for him. Talk to him, if you like. It will help him to have you near, and if he wakes up, he’ll be happy to see you there.”

Still unsure, Daryl set his jaw and nodded, settling against Castiel’s side. Once Hershel’s back was turned, he laid Cas’ head in his lap, careful of all the wires and tubes, awkwardly shifting down the headboard. He could feel Castiel’s shoulders move with each breath he was forced to take, and he wondered why his lips were still so blue. Was he cold? He didn’t feel cold, in fact he felt almost clammy, like he didn’t need the stack of blankets that had been draped on top of him, one over the other. Was he comfortable? He had more than enough pillows, he was basically wreathed in them, but his brow was drawn and he seemed to almost be frowning under the respirator mask. Cas never looked so pensive in his sleep, and before Daryl realized what he was doing, he mused out loud, “He looks so small right now.”

He heard Hershel stop by the door, and out of the corner of his eye Daryl saw he was watching him, stepping back from the door and taking his hand off the knob. He didn’t know what possessed him to say that, but it seemed he couldn’t stop. Not looking up at Hershel, who took a seat at the foot of the bed, Daryl busied himself with brushing Castiel’s dark, unruly hair behind his ears, and said, “I don’t know how to do this— Cas’ better with all this touchy, feely crap.”

“He puts his foot in his mouth damn near constantly, and don’t look to him for a pep talk, but when it comes to getting shit done, stepping up and taking the reigns in a bad situation? He’s the best.” Daryl felt a burning flush bloom across his cheeks, and his voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, but he was thankful that Hershel stayed silent, perched on the foot of the bed and looking at the far wall, rather than at Daryl, “He’s brave, you know? He doesn’t think he is, but he’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. He’d know exactly what to do if our positions were reversed. But I— I never learned this shit. I ain’t never had a kind hand to guide me, ain’t never been comforted when I was sick. Weren’t until I met Cas that I learned caring about someone wasn’t the end of the world, and now… fuck, I wish I—”

“When he brought you back from the woods, and you were shot, Cas was a complete basket case.” Hershel said, interrupting him mid rant.

Daryl snorted disbelievingly. “No fucking way,” he said.

“Yes, he was,” Hershel said, shaking his head with a laugh, “He went off on poor Andrea like you wouldn’t believe, and when I was stitching you up, he refused to leave. He kept giving me shit for not being careful enough, and when I threatened to kick him out, he said “over my dead body.” He never once left you alone, and he was completely distraught. No one could talk to him, no one could calm him down, and when you were missing? Well, I think the fact he snuck into the woods in the middle of the night to keep searching for you, with a pregnant woman in toe, is a testament to his poor decision making skills, at least where you’re concerned.”

Daryl couldn’t help himself as he cracked a small smile, slumping further down the headboard, arranging Castiel more comfortably in his lap and absently running his fingers through Cas’ hair. He glanced up at Hershel and asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because no one ever told you something you really need to know.” Hershel said, “And that is when you really care about someone? It makes you stupid. When someone you love is involved, all sense of logic and reason goes out the window, just like that—” he snapped, “And it doesn’t reflect poorly on you, nor does it make you weak. Just the opposite, in fact. It’s a demonstration of how much that person means to you… albeit a backwards one. When push comes to shove, though, you will end up doing right by them.”

“You will do right by him, Daryl, I promise you. Just be here for him, fight for him, like you’ve been doing this whole time. You’ve got the most of us convinced about the circumstances regarding his illness, now all you’ve got to do it keep your head above water until we can come up with a solution,” Daryl shifted uncomfortably under Hershel’s weighty stare, diverting his attention to Castiel as Hershel told him, “Don’t you dare lose sight of who’s important here. Castiel needs you more than we do; let us handle the research as much as we can. You just worry about being here, with him. Be strong for him this time, like he was with you.” Hershel paused, chuckling, “Just… try not to make Andrea cry, like he did.”

Daryl laughed despite himself, “I ain’t making any promises.”

Hershel smiled, satisfied he’d said all he had to. He stood up with a nod to Daryl, plodding over to the door and leaving the room without another word.

Daryl listened carefully to the sound of his steps receding down the corridor. He waited silently until he heard voices from the living room, greeting Hershel with a barrage of questions and concerns he no doubt didn’t have the answers for. Daryl reached over, locking the door with one hand as he waited just a little while longer, until the voices tapered off and the sobbing started up again. And when he was certain Hershel was gone, and that he wouldn’t be interrupted, Daryl let himself apart.

Fat, hot tears rolled down his cheeks and he blinked blearily, cursing under his breath as he gave up trying to hold them back. Instead, he slid down the headboard, the final few inches, until he was lying down next to Castiel, cradling his head in the crook of his shoulder. His breath hitched in his chest, and he bit his lower lip as hard as he could muster to keep from making a sound, gripping Castiel tight and keeping him close. With a weak, rumbling noise that he barely managed to catch, Daryl ran his cheek against Cas’ forehead, nosing through his hair and pressing a soft kiss to his temple as he shut his eyes tight and reminded himself to breathe.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me about Lucifer?” Daryl asked, breaking through the stifling silence, “Why did I have to hear about him from Shane and Mephistopheles?”

“Shane told us that Sam and Dean set Lucifer free from his cage, and that you let them… because that was how it was supposed to go. How your archangels wanted it to, because it followed the word of God. It was meant to be, that when Lucifer got out of the cage, he and Michael would fight to the death, and Michael was supposed to win. He was supposed to defeat Lucifer, and kick start paradise on earth.” Daryl said, speaking to an empty room, his words muffled as he spoke against Cas’ temple, “But the three of you, Dean, Sam and yourself, basically cock blocked Michael. You stopped it somehow, for some reason, and because of that, Lucifer won by default. Michael had to return to heaven and cut his losses, and now Lucifer owns the globe. This is the end of days, and you made it happen.”

A swell of angry sounding voices rose up from the living room, drifting through the crack under the door, and Daryl paused. Cas’ chest fell with a whoosh, the blankets shuffling as the ventilator pumped air into his lungs, predictable and steady, as Daryl held him tighter.

“I wish I could be mad at you for that,” he said softly, “I really do. And I’m not gonna lie, I’m hurt. I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough, after everything we’ve been through together, to tell me _why_ you fell, or at least what the _hell_ is going on out there. You couldn’t even tell me about the _walkers_? Jesus, Cas…”

Daryl sucked his teeth, anger brewing just below the surface, but it didn’t last. It broke away, and he sighed at its departure.

“But I can’t be mad at you, because I get it. I get you.”

He ducked down, and kissed Cas’ cheek, just above the mask.

“I understand now why you feel like you need to protect everyone. Why you feel you need to help and teach them, to make them the best they can be. It’s because you feel responsible for ruining their lives, for the way they’re suffering now. Everyone that dies, or falters, that to you is your failing. You take it personally. And you’re willing to do anything for them, because you feel like…” Daryl looked up at the ceiling, biting the inside of his lip thoughtfully, “you feel like you don’t have a right to be here. Like you don’t deserve to live, that you’re not worth as much as them. I don’t agree with it, but I understand, and I think… I think I get you even more.”

There was a thump from the room above him, and he heard Lori shout something unintelligible, Rick’s hastily murmuring an answer. Daryl watched the ceiling, the slats of wood overhead, and the unlit hanging light that hovered above his head as it swayed back and forth to the beat of the footsteps upstairs.

“Lucifer knows we’re here,” Daryl said, running his hand down the length of Cas’ arm, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I had another one of those visions this afternoon. The barn was burning again, and when I walked up to it, Sam Winchester was in the window, wearing a white suit, and he told me that my visions are like looking through a window. That he was watching me, like I was watching him. And Shane, he’s almost certain that, since we sent Mephistopheles back to hell instead of killing him, he’ll be reporting our location to Lucifer… he thinks its why the sky turned red. Why we can’t see the moon or the stars.”

“And, even if Shane wasn’t, that angelic light show you put on in the front lawn? That would be enough to draw the attention of every demon and Croat for miles. The angels are gone… and I doubt Lucifer is going to want one out there and unaccounted for,” Daryl said, lacing his fingers through Cas’ and bringing his hand to rest on his chest, “Some of the others, they’re pretty mad at you because of all this. They’re leaving in the morning, but some are staying behind. I tried my best to convince them all to stay, but tensions are running too high I guess… I did what I could.”

Cas shuffled into him, shifting against his side and for a moment, Daryl held his breath. He looked down at him, his face resting in the crook of Daryl’s shoulder, for any signs of life, but Castiel was still out like a light. Daryl held him tighter, squeezing his hand so tight his joints ached and he was unable to reign in the shallow, gasping sob that tore through him.

“But fuck them, right?” He asked, gasping, trying to haul in a breath but struggling to break past the emotion welling in his chest, “Let the ones that want to leave, leave. And those that want to stay, can stay. And baby?” Daryl turned his head, speaking against Castiel’s temple, his lips pressed to his soft, sun scented skin, “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care about what you did, and I don’t really care you never told me about it. I love you, Castiel—” and his voice trembled as he murmured his promises, “I love you so fucking much, and I love you as you are. The person you are now… not the angel you used to be.”

“And I know you, better than all of them. Whatever you did? Whatever you were planning, that failed and landed us in the middle of the apocalypse, I know you did it for the right reasons. You did it for us… all of us, the entire human race. I know you, and I know you would only have ever done what you did out of the goodness of your heart, because you thought it was the right call. No matter what anyone else thinks, I know… you’re not selfish.” Daryl sniffed, and he roughly wiped his cheek against the pillow beneath him, “You’re a good, kind person. You wouldn’t beat yourself up as bad if you weren’t, right?””

He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he still waited for one, and when it didn’t come, he only held Castiel tighter.

“When you wake up, and once you’re better, we’re going to talk,” Daryl decided, looking back up at the ceiling, “And we’re going to air things out, once and for all. No more secrets, no more hiding. I’ll tell you everything, every tiny detail about my life. I’ll tell you about my mom, my brother, my dad. I’ll tell you about the house I grew up in, and the fire that destroyed it. I’ll tell you about the nightmares I used to have when I was little, about a yellow eyed man standing by the foot of my bed. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to do the same. And I know its daunting… you have like, sixty billion years on me, but we don’t have to do it all at once. We have the rest of our lives.”

Daryl unlaced their fingers, holding Cas’ hand up and running his thumb along his palm. He had such beautiful hands, Daryl mused as he massaged along the undersides of Cas’ fingers. Long, thin boned fingers and strong palms, dotted here and there with calluses, the result of wielding a blade and working with his hands. His nails were always ragged, dirty and cut at odd angles, but that was only because he didn’t know how to take care of them properly, and Daryl found that absolutely charming. He never learned how, or why he should clean them, and he only ever cut them when they annoyed him, using whatever he had available, be it a bowie knife or his teeth. And Daryl realized, as he stared intently at Castiel’s hands, that there was so much he still needed to teach him. Stuff he’d never considered before, and as usual, the realization filled him with a sort of hopeless excitement.

The thought that he might never get the chance, however, cut through him like a hot knife.

“There’s nothing more I want in this world Cas than to be with you,” Daryl said, earnest and intense, bringing Cas’ hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his palm, “Before I met you, I was just coasting. Existing. And once Merle was gone, I didn’t… there was literally nothing left for me. But you changed everything, and I’m not just talking about angels, psychics and supernatural bullshit. You, and just you, your personality, sense of humor, your batshit craziness and your bull-headed stubbornness, you—you make me a better person just by being near you, and I can’t fathom a life without you anymore.” He spoke into his palm, tilting his head to look down at Cas’ sleeping face, “I love you. I just… do. So, you have to wake up, okay? I need you to get better.”

His tears were long gone, dried up and useless, the tracks on his cheeks the only evidence of them ever having been shed at all. Instead, Daryl felt weak. Used up and tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, and he slowly shifted down the mattress, transferring Cas’ head to the nearby pillow so Daryl could lie on his side, facing him. The bed dipped and creaked underneath them, no doubt unused to the task of supporting two full grown mean, but it held up valiantly, rising up around them and letting them sink into the mattress. Daryl closed his eyes, pulled Cas close, and let the silence fill in the air around him, content to listen to him breath, and feel the slow, but steady beat of Castiel’s heart under his fingertips.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice breaking through the silence like a thunderclap, “when we figure out what’s happening with you, and we fix you up, you ain’t never gonna want for nothin’.” Daryl opened his eyes and watched Castiel sleep, smoothing out his furrowed brow with his thumb, “I’ll let you sleep in as long as you want, every day. I’ll go on runs just for you, get you books you ain’t read yet, stuff you ain’t never eaten. Shit, you’ve never even had pizza, have you?” He took Cas’ continued silence as a viable answer, and chuckled to himself, “Well, that’s a must then.”

“I’ll teach you how to drive the bike, if you teach me how to fight with a sword… and we’ll fix up the Impala together, just the two of us, get her runnin’ right. She could use new brake pads, anyways.”

“I’ll help you when you’re frustrated, or when you get stuck on something you don’t understand, or haven’t had to do yet. And wherever we end up, I’m going to make it a real home, you know? Somewhere we can at least unload the car, get all of your random shit out of the trunk and onto a shelf… maybe build a weapons rack, oh! I think I could rig up a makeshift forge or somethin’, we could start casting bullets like you wanted.”

Daryl tilted Cas’ chin back, studying his face like it was the last time he’d ever have the honor. His vision blurred, his well of tears not as dried up as he thought, and Daryl cursed as he thumbed along the edge of the mask, pressing gently into Castiel’s skin, along his cheeks. He skimmed over his eyes, down the bridge of his nose until he hit the mask, biting his lip as he mulled something over, something hovering at the tip of his tongue, that he wasn’t certain he wanted to say. That he didn’t know if he could manage to say aloud.

“I want to marry you, Cas.” Daryl whispered, silently solemn for a moment before breaking out in a self-deprecating grin, chuckling under his breath, “I know, that’s fucking asinine, I mean, its not like we can go down to the courthouse and pick up a licence or nothing, and its not like there’s a point to it, not anymore. But, I think marriage is probably something that’s existed before religion was even a thought in someone’s mind. You’d probably know. And it doesn't have to be marriage, not really, there's probably something out there more profound, but..." 

“I just… its something that people do. Its something people used to do, when their lives were simple and easy, when they were normal, and not afraid of living. I’m not afraid to live anymore, and that’s because of you.” Daryl leaned back, letting his hand rest at the curve of Cas’ throat, feeling his pulse, just barely, beneath his palm, and said, “I want you to have a normal life. As normal as we can make it, if we survive whatever comes next. I want to call you mine, and have it mean something vast and unknowable. I want to be yours, and only yours until the day I die.”

“When you wake up, Castiel, I’m gonna ask you,” he said, more determined this time, “Because I ain’t never thought, in all my life, I would ever want to spend the rest of it with somebody else, but… here you are.”

With a wet, teary chuckle, Daryl rolled onto his back once more, carding his hands through his hair and shaking his head. “Thank Christ you aren’t hearing any of this,” he said, “Fuck— you’d never let me live it down.”

“So, c’mon,” Daryl looked over, and gently shoved at Cas’ shoulder, his voice cracking as he begged, “Wake up and start making fun of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO! As a little added PS, there will be another one shot coming up soon, probably before this chapter... just cause I need to write it out. It will be cute and fluffy, as an apology for the myriad of awful feelings this chapter might have caused ;) and it will also serve as a "HOLY CRAP WOW!! You guys are awesome!" gift, because, hello? Over 2000 hits? Over 150 comments? Over 130 Kudos!? Wow! I am SO ecstatic and humbled, thank you to everyone who is sticking with me here <3 Also, there is a prequel in the works, a sequel being story-boarded, and around five chapters to go on this fic! (for real this time ;))


	31. Wolverine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys... writers block has been kicking my ass, but here you have it... chapter 31!!! Woo!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay (a freaking month!? OMG I am so sorry!!!) and I hope that this chapter makes up for it, as we start to figure out what could be going on with Cas and formulate a solution! Next chapter will be up next week and another chapter of my side/curtain fic (Three Day Detour) will be up this weekend. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Humming to herself, mostly to keep grounded, Lori hurriedly packed away her family’s meagre belongings into three bags. Carl’s comic books and clothes were the first to go, followed by Ricks, and now hers, and she found herself forgoing the folding in favour of speed. She stuffed and balled her clothes into the bottom of her backpack, trying to offset her frantic pace with slow, somber humming, and she vaguely realized that if anyone were to walk in on her in that moment, she would look as though she’d gone off her rocker. She was clearly panicked, there was no point in hiding it, but she did so desperately, as if she were trying to convince herself to be strong for her family, when in reality, she was just burnt out.

Yelling at Cas as he lay unconscious in bed really took a lot out of her, she mused.

The thought she was trying to avoid came floating back up to the forefront of her mind as she violently shoved a blouse into her bag: _you’re a terrible person. You’re abandoning your only friend_ , she thought viciously, _and you aren’t even sure if he’s done anything wrong_. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the horrid thought as another bubbled to the surface: _You aren’t even giving him a chance to defend himself. He gave_ you _a chance, with Shane and the baby. Why can’t you afford him the same courtesy? Has he ever steered you wrong before?_

“He lied,” she muttered, zipping up her bag and scanning the room for anything she might have missed, “He lied to me this whole time. Even if he could speak his piece, who’s to say he won’t lie again?”

_He’s not that kind of man, and you know it._

With a frustrated groan, Lori dropped to the bed, sitting with her head in her hands. It seemed so flimsy an excuse when she said it out loud, justifying it to herself and no one else. She had known Cas so well, and she still did. He’d told her so much about himself, about the indignities he’d suffered in Chitaqua, and about being an angel. She’d known about Dean and their tumultuous relationship for so long now, and she knew more details about Daryl Dixon than she personally cared too, though to be fair, the same could be said for Cas about Rick… and Shane.

She could remember hours sat by the fire, not the large one the group hung around every night, but the smaller one Cas and Daryl retreated to when they needed to talk about things like demons and ghosts. They would sit and stare at the crackling flames late into the night, long past the time that Daryl and her husband had gone to bed, and they would talk about anything under the sun. Lori’s marriage, her children, her fears for the future and all of the selfish facets of herself she disliked so much that she was afraid to face them. Castiel’s past, his uncertain present, the stress and loss of becoming human and his inability to forgive himself for some horrible mistake he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

It always struck Lori as odd, that Cas could be so open with her about so many heavy things, memories both good and bad, but he couldn’t seem to tell her anything about this horrible, awful secret that seemed to weigh on him daily. She could see it, in the way he held himself within the group, wanting so badly to please and protect, but having no regard for his own safety and wellbeing. It was in the way he was willing to lay down his life at the drop of a hat, in how little he cared about himself, and the lack of stock he placed in his own self worth.

And of course, it was in what he said… or rather, what he didn’t say. It was how he would cut himself off mid tirade, eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he realized how close he came to revealing that which must never be exposed. She could see it sometimes in the longing on his face, his expression so pained as he hovered at the precipice of confession, wanting to tell her something so badly, to ease his conscience, but somehow knowing he just couldn’t do it. If Lori were being honest, she had known since the first moment she talked to him that he was hiding something huge, and Rick did too. It was why he had asked her to work on Castiel, to try and make him spill his secrets, but as she got to know him, she decided she couldn’t.

It wasn’t just that she could see the pain it caused him, though that was clear as day to anybody with working eyes and half a brain in their head. Instead, overtime, she became afraid of it. She could see what it was doing to Castiel, felt the immeasurable weight of his secrets, and she decided she didn’t want to know. If there was something that could make Castiel feel fear to that extreme, something he would rather die than let slip, then she didn’t want to hear it, convinced it would be something that would turn her world on its head. Something she would never recover from.

And wasn’t that the truth, she thought viciously.

In a way, Cas wasn’t the only one to blame. Yes, he had lied to her through omission, and in some instances baldly, to her face, but she had never asked for the truth either. She actively avoided it, denied wanting to know and never once asked him for it, not directly. She had known this whole time he was hiding something, but instead of pressing it, she ignored it, and for that, she had to shoulder some of the blame.

And was her issue with Castiel truly that he had lied, or that he kick-started the apocalypse? She couldn’t decide. She was upset and frightened to know they were in the midst of a biblical apocalypse, that much was certain, but it was something larger than her. Something she could not, and could never have, changed. Furthermore, she _knew_ Cas. She knew the kind of man he was differed greatly from the omniscient being he used to be. He used to be on a larger scale, and his actions had impacts beyond her comprehension, but now? He was human, fragile, and just as damaged as the rest of them. He made mistakes, and he could be selfish, but he always tried to be good.

He was like a puppy that had just been caught chewing on the furniture… ashamed, miserable and guilty, all wrapped up in a nice neat package.

But he _had_ doomed them. Mistake or not, angel or not, Castiel was the very cause of their suffering, apparently. Should he wake and say otherwise, they would have to revaluate, but in that moment, all Lori knew was that Castiel helped unleash Lucifer on the world. He let him out, and had the chance to stop him, but failed. And didn’t she have a right to be angry about that?

I’m not, though, she thought miserably, shaking her head and curling herself around her knees. She was terrified about that, sure, but that wasn’t what she was angry about. What it really came down to, if she were being honest with herself, was that she was angry that he had lied to her. She was hurt, and she wanted to pin that on someone other than herself, so she chose the convenient target… Castiel. The man she thought of as her best friend, her brother. Her family. 

A freaking angel.

“God, Lori, way to be a stand-up person,” she said, sitting up straight and running her hands down her face.

She heard a scream echo up the stairs and it startled her, a jolt of fear rattling along her spine until she realized it was just Cas. He must have woken up again, in agony, and tried to roll on his back. Either that or someone touched his shoulders. She wondered if she should talk to Hershel about giving him something for the pain, and then thought better of it. Should she run into Andrea on her way downstairs, she didn’t think she could refrain from snapping at her, no matter how astute her observations on Lori’s character had been.

Instead, Lori stood in the very center of the now empty bedroom, and wondered it Cas was really going to die. As hurt as she was, and as angry, she would never wish that on him. She wanted nothing more than for him to get better, to fight off whatever sickness had overtaken him and break through to the other side, no worse for wear. She loved him still, and the thought of losing him like this broke her heart in two. He deserved better, and as much as he might not agree, he deserved, at least, to live.

She just couldn’t stay, she determined, looking out the window at the blood red sky, that familiar dread creeping through her once again. As dangerous as it was on the road, they would be in just as much danger if they stayed. And as much as she loved Castiel, she had her baby and son to think about. If what Shane said was true, and Lucifer knew where they were… how could she even think of staying just one moment longer?

Lori suddenly missed when walkers were the depth of their problems.

“Mom?”

Lori turned to the door and smiled warmly when she saw Carl, standing there with the last of his things in his arms and she waved him in. She motioned to his bag and he followed her silent directive, packing his clothes into his backpack and zipping it up with finality. He frowned, and looking up at her, asked, “Why are we packing to go now? Cas isn’t better yet. We can’t be leaving already.”

Her heart sank in her chest. “Didn’t your daddy tell you?” she asked, and cursed when Carl shook his head. “We’re not waiting for Cas to get better, baby,” Lori said softly, crouching next to him and taking his hands in hers, “we have to leave immediately. We’re heading out tomorrow morning.”

“What?” Carl asked, stunned, his eyebrows knitting together in a mix of frustration and confusion, “Why? What’s going on, mom?”

Lori shook her head, holding on to his hands tightly, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb in an attempt to soothe him. “We just have to go,” she said, her voice placatingly sweet, “I’m sorry, Carl, I wish we didn’t have to, but—”

“But _why?_ ” he asked again, more adamant than before, “What is so important that we need to leave Cas behind? Is anyone else coming with us, or are we leaving them, too? What aren’t you telling me?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Lori pleaded, holding on tight to his hand as she feared he was about to run from her, “Just let the grown-ups handle it, and—”

“No!” Carl shouted, ripping his hands out of her grasp, not even balking when she admonished him for it, “Damn it, mom, stop treating me like a kid!”

“You _are_ a kid.”

“So _what_?” He asked, throwing his hands out to the sides in stunned frustration, “Just because I’m twelve, that automatically disqualifies me from having any say in where we go, or what we do?”

“Yes,” Lori said exasperatedly, standing up and going back to the bed, turning her back on her son in hopes that this tantrum would just peter out.

“That’s bullshit,” Carl exclaimed, and Lori turned to him sharply.

“Watch your mouth!” She said, slamming the bag in her hands onto the bed, “I’m still your mother, and you cannot talk to me like—”

“But it is!” Carl said, incensed, and Lori was suddenly struck by the heated look of panic in her sons eyes, “I’m sorry mom, but it is!”

He sat down on the bed opposite her, leaning forwards on his hands and pleading, “It’s not fair. I know you’re just trying to protect me, but you _can’t_. Not anymore, and keeping things from me is only going to make things worse! I know that someday, maybe soon, you’re going to die—”

“Carl,” she interjected, reaching out to him, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise—”

“Don’t!” He said, holding his hand up and stopping her in her tracks, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I’m trying to tell you its okay, mom. I know you’re going to die someday, and so will dad, and Hershel and everyone else we know and love. That’s just life, and you can’t protect me from it anymore!”

“I need to know everything you do,” Carl pleaded, “and I need you to stop hiding things from me, because when you’re gone, I need to be able to take care of myself. I can’t be a burden anymore, and I need to be able to watch out for my baby brother or sister, too. Please, mom… it’s not like it was before. It can’t be.”

Lori’s breath hitched, and for the umpteenth time that night her eyes welled with hysterical tears. No, she thought, this wasn’t what she _wanted_. This was her last vestige of normalcy, her baby boy, and somehow, under her very nose he had become so _jaded_.  He was supposed to be a kid, and she had tried so damn hard to keep him that way, but despite her best efforts, she’d failed.

The boy sitting across from her now was all but unrecognizable. He stared back at her with her son’s face, but he had changed. He looked older, physically and emotionally, in how he carried himself, and she wondered how she could have missed that. When did he grow taller? When did his baby soft cheeks fill out? When had his shoulders broadened, so slightly she had somehow not noticed?

When did he get so wise, and who taught him to be self-sufficient? It wasn’t her, and those certainly weren’t Rick’s words flying past his lips.

When did he grow up?

“I never wanted this for you,” she sobbed harshly, quickly covering her mouth with one hand but unable to keep from crying behind it, “Carl, I wanted you to have a chance to be a kid. And everything that I’ve done, I’m sorry baby, but I thought I was doing right by you! I never wanted you to have to grow up so fast, and I tried, I really tried, I—”

She never got the rest out. Carl shuffled across the bed so quickly, she scarcely saw him move, and when she took her hand away from her mouth he rushed in, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her chest, snuffling against her. Biting her lip to keep from grossly sobbing, she held her son in her arms, so tightly she knew she must be smothering him, and kissed the top of his head, breathing him in, grounding herself.

“I’m sorry too, mom,” he said, muffled through his tears and her shirt, “and this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t help the walkers, and I know you did your best. But I promise you,” he leaned back, and looked up at her with tear stained cheeks, “you did a good job. You’re the best mom I could ask for, I just need you to…”

“You need me to trust you a little,” she supplied for him, and he nodded solemnly.

“I need to know the truth.”

Lori breathed deep, weighing out her options one last time, when her son’s look of stalwart determination made up her mind for her. “Okay,” she said softly, moving him off of her lap, and sitting her next to him on the bed, “alright, I’ll tell you everything. But you have to understand that you are still the kid, and we’re still the adults, alright? Me and your father, what we say goes.”

Carl nodded, and Lori stayed true to her word.

She told him everything.

She told him about angels and demons, about Castiel being one of the two. She told him about Lucifer, the apocalypse, and the reason they had walkers. She told him about Castiel’s supposed involvement, about what he did with Shane that night, and about them no longer being safe on the farm. She told him why the sky had turned red, why they couldn’t see the stars, and that Lucifer and an army of walkers were on their way at that very moment.

“Cas is the reason they’re here, and by not telling us, he’d willingly put us all in danger,” she said, picking at her fingernails, unable to look up at her son, “That’s why we have to leave.”

Carl thought for a long moment, biting the inside of his lips and watching her carefully, before crossing his arms over his chest and telling her once again, “That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay, seriously?” She snapped, holding up a finger to which Carl at least had the good graces to look abashed towards, “Enough with the language. You watch your mouth, or this conversation is done.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled, but then shook his head, “that’s the truth though. You know it too, I can see it in your face, you know this is wrong! Cas is family, and you’re saying we have to just leave him to die? That’s not right!”

“He’s the whole reason we’re in this mess,” she said, not letting herself be swayed, at least on the surface, “he didn’t give two thoughts to our safety when he accepted our friendship and shelter, and apparently, you missed the part where _he started everything_. He started the apocalypse, Carl! How… how are you not angry about that?”

“I am!” he snapped back, balling his hands into fists at his sides, his knuckles pressing into the ruffled surface of the bed, “Of course I am. But mom, I know he didn’t mean it!”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know him!” Carl said, so confident in his assessment that it gave Lori pause, “Castiel’s just like Wolverine.”

Lori balked at his assentation, staring with one eyebrow raised so high she swore it must have hit her hairline.

“He’s the anti-hero,” Carl explained, “He’s done some bad things, but he’s trying to be better. He wants to do good, and he wants to help us, its just that he messes up sometimes. That doesn’t make him a bad guy. It makes him a good character.”

“But he’s not a character,” Lori said slowly, “and this isn’t a comic book story. This is our lives.”

“All the more reason to give him another shot,” Carl said, “He’s a good person, mom. He deserves another chance to prove it. You don’t even need to like him anymore, and you can be mad at him all you want, but he doesn’t deserve to be left behind, and neither does anyone else!” And this time, he was pleading with her, begging her to really think about what he was saying. To take it at face value, like she would anyone else, and not just as her kid.

But how could she not? This was her son, her baby boy, and he was telling her in no uncertain terms that she was wrong. She was making a bad call, and she was going to regret it forever, all because she was holding Cas to higher standards or morality, of right and wrong, than she was willing to hold to herself.

And the kicker?

He was right.

She had known it all along, but it had to come from her son’s mouth for her to face it. Leaving Castiel was wrong. Leaving just because she was afraid was selfish. And dragging her kid along, even though he didn’t want to go, was just as bad. And the reason she had to admit it, had to relent and see things from his perspective wasn’t that he was being astoundingly perceptive for his age… she knew these words weren’t his, because she had heard them before. Time and time again, when seeking advice and companionship by that small fire on the outskirts of camp. Past Cas’ lips as they spoke in hushed tones while their family slept.

What kind of message was she sending to her son if she couldn’t put aside her personal feelings and help someone in need? Someone she cared about? Lori had once told her husband that Carl was getting cold, that he was growing up in a world with no rule of law and no guidance, and in the moment she’d said that, she was right. But that night? Sitting next to her on that bed? Carl wasn’t cold or distant. He had more heart than both her and Rick combined, and she couldn’t ignore it.

She didn’t teach him that. She’d been too busy, too caught up in keeping shit together for her family, that she hadn’t been there for her boy, not really. She’d kept him fed, safe and clothed, but she had neglected everything else. She hadn’t been there to teach him right from wrong, or how to be a good person, even when it got hard. But someone else had picked up the slack for her, and that someone was Cas.

He’d been the one to watch Carl when Lori had too much else to do. When Rick was on the verge of a breakdown and she had to mediate between him and Shane. And everything Carl said to her that night? All that stuff about being a good person, about trying your best and making amends?

That had Castiel written all over it.

“What else did he teach you, when I wasn’t around?” Lori murmured, shaking her head when Carl looked up at her quizzically, “Never mind, and I can’t believe I’m saying this but… you’re right. I can’t promise that we’ll be thick as thieves if he ever gets better, but he needs all the help he can get.”

“So does that mean we’re staying?” Carl asked, eyes alight with hope.

“It mean’s we’ll try,” Lori amended, elbowing her son in the side playfully when she saw his expression start to fall, “I need to convince your father, but if the two of us stick to our guns, and decide to stay behind, then he won’t really have all that much of a choice, will he?”

“Nope!” Carl said, finally smiling for the first time since he entered the room, “Thank you mom.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, giving him a gentle shove off the bed and waving him towards the door, “You have to go give that spiel to your father, still. Just clean up the language, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, with a little salute, before ducking out of the room, his footsteps thundering down the stairs on his way to find his father.

Lori waited until she was certain he was out of earshot to fall back on the bed and bury her head in her hands. What to do now, she wondered dismally, listening to Castiel’s anguished moans from below, and the sound of harried voices trying to deduce what was wrong with him. If they were staying, then she would need to throw in her lot to try and save him, but she knew in her heart they wouldn’t find an answer in the books Cas stole from Chitaqua. He’d told her himself, the books he brought with him were rudimentary, only there to assist him if he ran into a monster on his travels that needed dispatching of. There was one book in his collection on angels, very little on demons, and absolutely nothing on the kind of celestial voodoo he seemed to be suffering from in that moment.

It had to be angelic though, right? The scars on his back… they were from his wings, or at least that was the excuse Cas had fed her when she asked, having felt them through his shirt while patting him on the shoulder. They were what was causing him pain, and the bruising was centered around them… it had to be the source, right?

But his wings were gone.

“God, this is impossible!” She groaned, sitting up straight and casting a harried glance out of the window. They had to figure out what was wrong with Cas, and quick. They had a time limit, and none of the resources they needed. It wasn’t like they could Google it, or call up an expert…

“ _Oh_ ,” she said softly, an idea springing to mind that she didn’t hesitate to act on. Clambering off the bed, Lori knelt on the hardwood floor, resting her elbows on the edge of the mattress and clasping her hands together. She rested her head against her hands, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath to tamp down the feeling of embarrassment that swell in her, the way it used to when she was forced to do this as a little girl, her mother watching her from her bedroom door.

“Hey God, it’s been a while. We have someone here that you know, and he could use some help.”

* * *

 

Castiel howled in pain, tapering off into a sob that made Daryl’s skin crawl.

He buried his nose in the book he was reading, but he couldn’t begin to concentrate on the words in front of him. He was reading but not understanding, and though he knew he needed to find something, anything, that could give them the barest amount of insight into what was going on with Cas, he couldn’t shake the need to sit by his bedside. To run in there, kick T-Dog out and stay with him. He was suffering, and Daryl felt worse than useless.

What if they couldn’t find what they were looking for?

He dropped the book down as Cas’ pained moans tapered into silence, and scanned the room. They had hunkered down on the floor in Hershel’s den, the furniture pushed to the side, and a single coffee table in the middle of the room playing host to every book Daryl could find on the supernatural. Hershel walked through the archway into the room, sitting heavily on the chair next to Maggie and Glenn, who were both reading from the same book, studious expressions on their faces. Andrea looked up when Hershel came in, and nudged Carol in the side, drawing her attention from the book she was reading, and asked, “How is he?”

“Not good,” Hershel replied succinctly, “have we found anything yet?”

“No,” Shane said, closing the large, leather-bound tome in front of him with a huff, throwing his hands up in frustration, “nothing. This is fucking pointless, we ain’t gonna find anything in these. None of them even talk about angels, how the hell are we expecting to cure Cas if we don’t have the right information?”

“This one is,” Andrea said, holding up the book she was reading.

“It’s in Latin,” Shane sassed back, “Do you speak Latin?”

“No, but I speak Spanish,” she said, sitting up straight and glaring at him, “Close enough.”

“Have you managed to find anything in there?” Daryl asked her, trying and failing to hide the lilt of desperation in his voice, “Anything at all?”

“See, this is what I don’t get,” Andrea said, flattening the book on the ground in front of her, “You think Castiel is a fallen angel, as in… not an angel. He’s human, right? So, why are you having me look for information on angelic physiology?”

“He says he’s human, and he acts human, I mean, he needs sleep, food, water. Angels don’t need that shit. He’s cut off from the host, has no power, can’t fly— everything points to him no longer being an angel but…” Daryl cut himself off, looking away from her for a moment and collecting his thoughts, not entirely convinced that what he was asking of her wasn’t just a last-ditch effort on his part to find a solution. It was all he had, all he could think of, so he told her, “When we were out on the lawn, I could see his wings. We all could, and he was glowing, his eyes burning, and that wasn’t the first time that’d happened either.”

“It wasn’t?” Shane asked, curiosity officially peaked.

“No. When we were in the C.D.C., in the Veil? He looked the same, wings and all. He kept on snapping in and out of focus, just like he was tonight. And it shouldn’t be possible, but hey, months ago, I didn’t think angels were real either. And before that, I didn’t believe in zombies. So, I think what I believe and what I don’t is relative, and I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m pretty sure that whatever is happening has something to do with him being an ex-angel.”

“I agree,” Shane said, catching Daryl’s eye, “whatever power he used to stick that demon in place inside of me? It weren’t dark like Mephistopheles’. It was warm and bright, man. It was angelic.”

“Alright then,” Andrea said suddenly, dumping a bucket of cold reality on them in one fell swoop, “if hunches are what we’re working on, then we’ll go with that. Are we looking for anything in particular? This thing is pretty heavy on the details, it’ll take me hours to work through it otherwise.”

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, and Andrea sighed in defeat as she went back to slogging through the tome in front of her.

They worked in silence for a few more moments, when another ear-piercing shriek shook the walls of the house. Daryl heard T-Dog curse from Cas’ room, and Maggie rubbed her temples with a whimper. “Daddy, isn’t there something we can do for him?” she asked, looking up at him pleadingly, “He’s suffering.”

But Hershel just shook his head. “I’ve already got him on a steady morphine drip, and I don’t want to up his dosage anymore than I must. He reacts differently to certain drugs, remember when I tried to give him an antihistamine for his hay fever, and he lost his hearing for two days?” Maggie nodded, “I don’t want to play around with narcotics if we don’t know how he’ll react to them.”

Daryl was only half paying attention to their conversation, drifting in and out until he heard the word _morphine_ pass Hershel’s lips, and his stomach dropped. “Wait,” he said, lowering the book he was reading to the ground, speaking slowly in a measured tone, trying not to give rise to the awful, panicky feeling crawling up his spine, “you gave him a morphine drip?”

Hershel nodded, and Daryl had to hold tight to the book in his hands to keep him from throwing it across the room.

“Yes, he was in pain.” Hershel explained, frowning at Daryl’s sudden terseness, “Still is, but the morphine helps him sleep at least.” He sat forward in his seat, meeting Daryl’s gaze, “Why? Is that a problem?”

His heart thundering in his chest, Daryl forced himself to shake his head no, waiting until Hershel dropped his gaze back down to the book he was reading. His hands shook as he turned the pages, debating whether it or not it would help Cas at that point to let Hershel know he was a recovered addict, or if it would only hurt him in the long run. There wasn’t much he could do, he decided, breathing out slowly. Cas was already hooked up to a drip, and had been for God knows how long… it was done.

Daryl just had to focus on fixing Cas up first, and hope that his withdrawal symptoms didn’t come back once he was well.

“This is ridiculous,” Glenn said suddenly, throwing the book down on the ground and grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes, “we have no idea what we’re looking for! We need some kind of direction. Each one of these books takes hours to get through, and we don’t have time to sift through all of them! Cas is—”

Another moaning whimper drifted down the hall from Castiel’s room.

“He’s dying,” Hershel finished for him, “If we can’t find what’s wrong with him soon—”

“Alright, enough,” Daryl said, running his hand over his mouth, all eyes suddenly on him, “That’s not helpin’ anyone, least of all Cas. What do we know? What caused this, and what seems to be happening to Cas, aside from him…” he struggled to get the word passed his lips, eventually spitting it out like poison, “dying.”

Shane raised his hand tentatively, leaning forward as he said, “Well, uh, it started after he tried to smite Mephistopheles. He didn’t actually, but the threat was there, and he was using the same power. But it was less like an attack, and more like he was just flexing his muscles.”

Daryl sighed gratefully, happy to have someone on board who was willing to work instead of bitch and moan. “That’s something angels do, right?” he asked, looking around the room, “Smiting demons? It’s a power of theirs, so that means it would use their grace?”

“Yeah,” Glenn said, coughing into his hand as he opened the book he’d just slammed down, flipping to a page and pointing at the header, “it says in here, that an angels grace is a “universal manifestation of the holy light of the host, which burns hot in the presence of the spawn of Satan,” whatever that means.”

“It means an angels grace can kill demons,” Daryl deadpanned, “It’s a piece of God’s power.”

“Fucking… awesome,” Glenn breathed, momentarily overwhelmed before shaking it off and getting his head back in the game, “Okay, so this says that the ‘Grace is function and substance, an Angel’s form as well as their consciousness. Grace is not merely the Body Angelic, it is the Persona, the Self.’” He glanced around the room helplessly, “Does this make sense to anyone?”

“I think so… I mean, it sounds like they’re saying that an angels grace _is_ the angel itself,” Andrea offered as explanation.

“Cas once told me an angels grace is the closest thing it has to a soul,” Daryl added.

“So, his grace, when he was an angel, was his body _and_ his soul.” Andrea said, speaking slowly as she connected the dots, “They were inextricable from each other.”

“But if he’s not an angel anymore, like he says, then he wouldn’t have his grace,” said Glenn.

“That doesn’t seem possible though…” Andrea said, shaking her head, “how could he still exist, with all of his memories and his personality, without his grace? He _is_ his grace. An angel with no grace ceases to be that person anymore… I think, at least according to this, that it would be like he was brain-dead. His body would still be alive, but everything that makes him Cas would be gone.”

“And he clearly still has some kind of angel mojo… otherwise, how did he manage to hold Mephistopheles?” said Shane, sounding more hopeful by the minute.

“So, Cas has some grace left, he used it, and now he’s dying.” Daryl summarized, mulling it over before shaking his head with a groan, saying, “Why? Hershel, seriously man, what’s he dying from?”

Hershel shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know. And even if I had a clue as to what this is, his symptoms have dramatically changed in the past few hours, ever since he woke up. It’s impossible to pinpoint the cause.”

“Well, what’s different?” Carol asked.

“When y’all first brought him in here, he had multiple organ failure. He couldn’t breathe on his own, his heart rate was dropping steadily, and I had to intubate him immediately. When he woke up, however, his symptoms had changed completely,” Hershel said, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh, “His heartrate spiked, and now its through the roof, and he’s breathing faster, more than twenty breaths per minute at times. He’s got a fever of 103.2 and whenever he’s conscious, he’s not lucid. He’s weak, he’s confused, and no matter how many fluids we try to get into him, he’s not getting any better. The only thing that has stayed consistent are his extremities, his lips and his fingers are blue—”

Hershel gasped suddenly and jumped to his feet with a curse, everyone in the room jolting with surprise.

“What?” Daryl demanded, rising to his feet as well, “What is it!?”

“Sepsis,” Hershel said softly, as if amazed he didn’t see it sooner. He looked up at Daryl with harried eyes, before grabbing Maggie’s arm and urging her to her feet, leading her off down the hall and calling over his shoulder, “Septic shock, he’s in septic shock!!”

Daryl was right behind them, tearing down the hall and barging into Cas’ room only moments after Hershel and his daughter, who were already busy shooing T-Dog into the den with the others. They moved in a coordinated flurry of practiced motion, Maggie handing Hershel what he needed, when he needed it as Hershel injected Castiel’s IV with a smorgasbord of different medications.

“What does that even mean?!” Daryl asked, refusing to be ignored as Hershel stooped to check Castiel’s vitals, “Is he going to be okay?”

“If we can stabilize him, maybe.” Hershel said, to the point and in no mood to sugar-coat as he looked Castiel over with practiced ease, “And now that we know, in part, what we’re dealing with, I can help him better, but he’s been going untreated for a while now, and we still need to find the cause of the infection. Damn it!”

Maggie looked over at Daryl pityingly, and then back at her father, who seemed to have things under control. She grabbed Daryl’s hand gently, pulling him off to the side and waving in front of his face to draw his attention to her, and away from the bed where Castiel was being poked and prodded, Hershel fussing over him with such intensity it made Daryl’s head swim with worry. “Sepsis is the result of an infection,” she explained when Daryl turned to look at her, “it happens when chemicals that fight infection by triggering inflammatory reactions are released into the bloodstream… and it can be fatal if it isn’t caught in time.”

“There’s three stages,” Hershel added from his place by Cas’ side, “ranging from mild to severe. Castiel is hovering at the edge of stages two and three.”

“That means that infection has reached his bloodstream, which is causing the fever and pain.” Maggie held on to his hand tighter as he tried to pull away, anchoring Daryl’s focus, and said calmly, “His difficulty in breathing means the infection is effecting his lungs, and his blood pressure?”

“Is steady, for now,” Hershel replied.

Maggie sighed in relief, “That’s good, Daryl. It means he hasn’t gone into septic shock just yet.”

“And that is?” Daryl asked.

“Without a hospital, or proper equipment?” Hershel asked, looking up at them with a solemn frown, “A death sentence.”

“Daddy!” Maggie hissed, forcibly pulling Daryl further away and turning his back to Cas, so she could be certain she had his full attention, “If Cas goes into septic shock, his blood pressure will drop to extremely dangerous levels. If this happens, it can lead to respiratory or heart failure, stroke, and death… right now, hopefully, we’ve caught it in time, but if we can’t figure out where the infection is stemming from soon, and remove the source, he will just continue to get worse.”

Daryl’s heart hammered in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before asking, “What… what do we do in the meantime?”

“I’m getting him on broad-spectrum antibiotics now, and we need to start anti-microbial therapy immediately.” Hershel said, walking from the bed over to the two of them, “We’ll administer norepinephrine to help with his blood flow, try to get his blood pressure back to normal. I’ll stay in here and monitor him, but Daryl, I cannot stress enough… we need to find out what is causing this. We needed to have found this infection hours ago.”

“He has no cuts?” Maggie asked gently, “No wounds of any kind?”

“No.” Daryl admitted, feeling worse than useless as he turned and walked back to Cas’ bedside, “He got tossed around a bit, but he wasn’t hurt, not physically.”

And of that he was certain… until he saw the bruises marring Castiel’s back.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, just barely refraining from touching the myriad of purple and black that littered Castiel’s scarred shoulders, from arm to arm, the nape of his neck down to his lower back.

“Oh, my God!” Maggie exclaimed from behind him, and Daryl heard the rattle of the dresser as she backed up into it.

“That wasn’t like this when you brought him in here,” Hershel said, stunned.

“Is that the cause of the infection?” Daryl asked, his heart thrumming in his chest, aching as he looked down pityingly on Castiel’s mangled, bruised back.

“It’s spreading from here, but I can’t find… this makes no sense,” Hershel said, frustration brewing once more as he sat next to Daryl, looking closer at Castiel’s shoulders, “There’s no wound, and its almost like the infection is spreading through his scars—”

The door creaked open, and as Lori let herself in she said succinctly, “It’s his wings.”

Daryl bristled like an angry cat the moment she walked into the room, watching her cautiously as she stood by Cas’ bedside, wringing her hands nervously. Lori was quite possibly the last person he wanted to see or hear from at that moment.

She and Rick had quickly made his shit list when they decided to abandon Castiel when he needed them most, and while Daryl had a bone to pick with Rick himself, Lori’s decision to leave _really_ hurt. Not him, per say: he and Lori were never all that close, though they were perfectly amicable with each other for Cas’ sake, and they never gave any reason not to be… until that night.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could a woman who so professed to care for Cas be willing to up and abandon him? Sure, what Shane had told them was devastating, so much so that Daryl was having a hard time compartmentalizing it as well. He’d gone through his own range of emotions, and he had been angry with Cas, hurt that he’d not told him about his past and shame at realizing he didn’t know him near as well as he thought. But even through all of that, he worked past it, understanding that all his hurt feelings could wait (if they lasted that long) until Castiel was better. And Daryl sure as hell respected Cas enough to want to give him a chance to explain himself. To defend himself against what Shane and Mephistopheles had accused him of. He deserved that much.

And it was because he loved Castiel, that Daryl would do everything in his power to keep him alive.

He figured that Lori, of all people, would feel the same. She loved him too, and though they never spoke of it to each other, Daryl could see it in the way she interacted with Cas. He was her confidant, the person she came to when shit got too hard, and she felt like she was drowning on land. And she was Castiel’s, helping him navigate all his messy feelings, when the line between what he was and who he is blurred. They supported each other, depended on each other, and in his own small, twisted way their relationship reminded Daryl of the one he shared with Merle. Teasingly affectionate, cutting and brutal at times, but always loving.

So, when she pulled him aside earlier that night and told him she was leaving with her husband and Carl, Daryl had walked away without a word.

They hadn’t spoken since that moment.

He wouldn’t even look at her now.

He could feel the nervousness and guilt radiating off her, and it was like a punch to the gut, sending bile roiling up his throat and forcing him to clamp his jaw shut, gritting his teeth. As suddenly as she had stopped by Cas’ bedside, not a foot away from Daryl, hot, burning shame rolled off her in waves, seeping from her into Daryl and he stood suddenly, moving away from her without a word. She flinched as he walked away and she turned, her big, sad doe eyes pinned on him as he leaned against the windowsill on the far side of the room. He could see tear tracks on her cheeks, old and dried but not wiped away, and bags under her red rimmed eyes. And he had to fight against the overwhelming urge to ask if she was okay.

She doesn’t need the concern, he reminded himself. Cas did.

“The scars are from his wings, right?” Lori asked as she looked back at Cas, gesturing to the large, mottled ropes of raised tissue on his back, “He told me that they’re evidence of when they burned as he fell. He never could explain why his vessel, as he called it, carried a physical scar of his metaphysical wings, but that’s what they are. He said they exist in a, uh, ‘pocket dimension,’ neither here nor there. Like a tiny, self contained world just above our own.”

“Do you have a point?” Daryl asked, cuttingly.

Lori looked up at him again, lips drawn in a deep frown, and nodded. “He also said that sometimes he thought he could still feel them.”

And just like that, Daryl forgot his anger. This was news to him… Cas had never once spoken to him of his wings, much less the remembered feeling them. “Really?” he asked, kicking off the windowsill and walking to the foot of the bed, “those were his exact words? That he could still feel them?”

“Really,” she said, “Like a phantom limb, just with wings. So I was thinking that maybe…”

“Maybe his wings were burned and broken when he fell but…” Daryl huffed, staring at Cas’ shoulders in astonishment, “they’re still there. Still attached to him.”

“Exactly,” Lori said, “And if they were what was injured then maybe, somehow, it’s affecting his form here, in the physical realm.”

“Y’all said when he was all powered up, that you could see his wings,” Maggie supplied, hovering anxiously at the edge of the bed.

Daryl shook his head sharply, “No, no way.”

“What other explanation is there?” Lori asked adamantly, hands on her hips.

“I don’t know! But this doesn’t make any sense,” Daryl said, running a hand across his lips, “His wings aren’t material, they’re not physical! They’re made of grace, not flesh and bone. And besides, how did they get hurt in the first place? What happened to them, if Mephistopheles never touched 'em? How did an infection develop so fast?”

“That’s what you all need to figure out,” Hershel snapped, injecting another dose of antibiotics into Castiel’s IV. He nodded towards the door, “Go!”

Daryl did as he was told, and with one last lingering look at Castiel, he hurried down the hall. Lori was hot on his heels, jogging to keep up with his long strides, and as she reached his side she grabbed his arm and asked, “What other explanation do we have, if not this?”

“It doesn’t fit,” Daryl muttered, taking his arm back and sitting in his spot by the collapsed fireplace, before looking up at her gravely, “we can’t afford to waste time—”

“Um,” Glenn interjected softly, finger raised in the air as his gaze volleyed warily back and forth, between Lori and Daryl, “I have no idea what either of you are arguing about, but we’re already wasting time. If Lori has an idea that sounds even the tiniest bit plausible, maybe we should run with it?”

“Glenn’s right,” Maggie said, taking a seat next to him, “we can either dig through these books with no focus until Cas eventually dies, or we can go with Lori’s idea and try to figure out how to at least _look_ at his wings.”

Lori crouched down next to Daryl, her back to the rest of the room and whispered, so only Daryl could hear her, “I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be.”

Daryl huffed angrily, but bit his tongue.

“I was mad, I still am, but I know that I made a really shitty call, and for that I’m sorry,” Lori said, “However, if you want to help Castiel, you need to start thinking about this in terms of what could be, not what is. Because none of this is rational, and we’re never going to find a solution that makes total sense. This is the best chance Cas has Daryl, so please… just consider it?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Daryl felt the bulk of every single gaze fall directly onto him. From Andrea to Glenn, Shane to Maggie, they were all watching him closely, pensive and anxious, waiting for him to give the go ahead. The message was clear: they would do as he asked, whatever he asked, and the weight of that responsibility almost crushed him. It didn’t matter if he asked for it or not, Castiel was his, and whatever Daryl decided was the best option, that was what they would do.

With a deep breath, he nodded at Lori, and it was as if a gun had gone off as she sprung into action.

“Okay, we need to see everything we can find on angel’s wings, specifically fallen angels,” Lori said, sitting cross legged next to Daryl and looking pointedly at Glenn, “What have you got so far?”

“There’s this whole chapter here,” Glenn shoved the book he had been reading over to Lori, open to a page interspersed with walls of text and simple sketches, “There’s nothing we can find on fallen angels though, it seems like there haven’t been that many overall.”

“Cas is a fucking trailblazer, apparently.” Shane quipped from the couch, where he was laying back with his feet kicked up on the arm of the seat, an open book held in both hands above his face.

“Alright, that’s a start.” Daryl said, and Lori nodded at him approvingly as he took the reigns, “We also need to find out more about something called pocket dimensions. And whether an angel’s wings can manifest physically.”

Andrea sat up straight, an old leather tome she had been wrangling with clutched in both hands, as she excitedly said, “I think I’ve got something!” she flattened the book onto the ground, and both Lori and Daryl shifted closer, “I couldn’t find anything on angel’s wings manifesting physically, but, I checked into pocket dimensions and I found something interesting. There are these creatures called hell hounds, who apparently serve demons, and are invisible to the naked eye. We can’t see them, but they still have physical impact on the real world. They can interact with us, they can be hurt, wounded and killed, and the reason we can’t see them is—” she pointed to a passage in the book triumphantly, “because they exist in a pocket dimension!”

“So, if Cas said his wings existed in one of these dimensions,” Lori said, looking quizzically over her shoulder at Daryl, “couldn’t that mean that Castiel’s wings have a physical presence too? Just outside of this dimension?”

“I guess,” Daryl said, flummoxed, “I mean, it makes as much sense as it can.”

“So, assuming we’re correct, and his wings have a physical manifestation in a pocket dimension, then its possible they could have been injured, right?” Andrea looked around the room questioningly, “They’re basically just like, vestigial limbs.”

“But what happened to them?” Daryl asked, “Why now, and why only after Cas used his grace?”

Glenn sat up suddenly, a look of comprehension dawning across his face. “He’s cut off from the host,” he said softly.

“Exactly,” Shane called from his position on the couch, letting the book fall to the floor as he buried his face in his hands, “so none of this should be possible.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Glenn said, eyebrows knotting in concentration, “Just hear me out. Castiel is a _fallen angel_ , and that means he’s cut off from the host. His grace is a piece of Gods power, and when he fell, he was stripped of it… but not completely. An angels grace _is_ the angel, like Andrea said, and without it, there would be no Cas. Just an empty, dead vessel.” Glenn paused, looking around the room to make sure everyone was on board. He was met with a slew of blank faces, he carried on, carefully choosing his words, lest he omit anything important in his haste. “What I’m trying to say is, maybe Cas was only stripped down to the bare bones, leaving him with a tiny spark of grace, just enough for him to survive. It would be so small, so miniscule that maybe— maybe he wouldn’t even recognize it was there! Maybe, when he used it against Mephistopheles, it was more of a reflex than a conscious decision, some instinct left over from when he was at full power, and he managed to tap into that tiny reservoir of grace. But since he’s cut off, there’s no way to replenish it. He was already running on fumes, and using that last bit of grace was like burning off what little fuel he had left in his angelic tank. And now its like… his soul, his essence, is _dying_.”

“And what does that have to do with his wings?” Lori asked.

“His wings are _made_ of his grace,” Glenn explained, flipping through the book once more for confirmation, “They may have physical form, but they’re powered by… God power. I’m thinking, and I know this is far fetched, but what if grace flows through an angel’s wings like blood through a vein? And now that the flow of grace is diminished, and cut off, its like the blood flow to the _wings_ is cut off, and now the wing is dying.”

“Like gangrene?” Daryl asked, his voice hitting a higher pitch than intended as he swelled with panic again. He hadn’t felt this stressed in… Jesus, in over a decade, and it was doing a number on him already. Cas being sick was one thing, Cas being just shy of something called septic shock, caused by some unknown infection, was another. But Cas’ somehow still intact wings suffering from spiritual gangrene? That was a whole other level of fucked up that he was scarcely prepared for.

“It would explain the fever,” Glenn said, “and the sepsis, if an infection set in as the tissue died.”

“It’s happening faster than it ought to,” Maggie add, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, “but then again, Cas is an angel. We can’t exactly hold him to the laws of human physiology.”

“But how do we confirm it if we can’t see his wings?” Shane asked, sitting up on the couch, his feet planted on the floor and suddenly committed to the conversation, “How can we be sure, and how do we fix the problem?”

“If an animal has a limb that’s gangrenous, generally the only option is amputation,” Maggie said, matter-o-factly, and Daryl bristled at the word, “Is there a way to get to Castiel’s wings?”

“We’re not amputating nothin’,” Daryl snapped through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t there another option?” Lori asked, resting a hand on Daryl’s arm and watching him warily out of the corner of her eye.

“Honestly, it’s impossible to say until we see the damage, but…” Maggie looked at Daryl sadly, “Surgical removal of all dead tissue is _the_ treatment for gangrene. The dead tissue must be debrided to stop the spread of the infection, and yes, that might mean the removal of the whole wing.”

Daryl shook off Lori’s hand and stood, pacing across the room. “No,” he said, his voice steady and contradicting the thundering anxiety that was rising, hot and tense, up his spine, “we’re not cutting off his fucking wings. He thought he lost them once and it almost killed him, when he finds out…”

“If it’s dry gangrene, they may auto-amputate,” Maggie added, as if it would help, “but Daryl, he’s not going to be _able_ to find out if we don’t do this. He’ll just die.”

Daryl shook his head sharply, jaw clenched. Maggie stared at him long and hard, frowning as she tried to come up with the words to convince him this was their only option, but coming up empty. Nothing she could have said would have made a difference to him, anyhow, and she threw her hands up in frustration, huffing as Daryl walked away, crossing the room and ducking into the small foyer by the front door and keeping his back turned to the group. If he had to make the decision to lob off Castiel’s wings, then the least he could do was give himself some semblance of privacy.

He wasn’t stupid, and where he grew up, he’d seen gangrene once or twice. In hikers who’d gotten lost in the mountains during the winter, hobbling back to camp with frostbite so severe the only solution was to take their fingers and toes. Or Hal, the old man that lived some ways down from him and Merle in that trailer park they stayed at, who was diabetic but could only afford to see the doctor once every three years. He’d lost his whole left leg, right up to the knee. And it wasn’t a pretty sight in either scenario.

There was a part of him that knew Maggie was right. There was no way they could revive dead tissue, not in Hershel’s bedroom at least, and they didn’t even know if Cas’ wings were actually made of flesh and bone. They were still operating under the assumption that they were there at all, and Glenn’s hypothesis was just that—a theory. A shot in the dark. But if he was right? Then they would have to take Cas’ wings… whatever piece of them was dead or dying, and maybe the entirety of both.

“Daryl,” Lori said softly, walking over to him as he stood by the front door, staring at the immaculately painted wood like it could make this decision for him. She reached out her hand, but stopped just shy of touching him, her hand caught hovering in the scant space between them when he looked at her sharply. “This may be our only shot at helping Cas,” she whispered to him, ducking her head around his shoulder to speak with him face to face, “And I know it’s not an easy decision, but it might be the only one we’ve got. I’m sure if Cas could talk to us, he’d—”

“He can’t though, can he?” Daryl asked, slamming his hand against the door hard enough to rattle it, “And now I have to decide whether to _mutilate_ him, or try to find another solution and risk having him die in the meantime!” He scoffed, “How am I supposed to do that?”

“With great difficulty.” Lori said, shoving her hands in her pockets, “When Carl was shot, and we didn’t know if Shane was going to make it back with the ventilator, I had to make a call like this. I had to decide whether to operate without anesthesia, or wait for Shane, and have Carl die in the meantime.”

Daryl turned and leaned against the door, tearing at his thumbnail with his teeth, “You waited.”

Lori shook her head. “No,” she said, “I didn’t. I told Hershel to operate… Shane just happened to get back only moments after. I knew that if I waited, if Shane wasn’t coming back, then Carl would die, but if I let Hershel take a chance and operate without anesthesia? He’d have a better shot than if I sat around and did nothing.”

“It worked out for you though,” Daryl said, his voice barely as whisper, “your boy lived because Shane came back… your decision didn’t matter.”

“In the end? No,” Lori sighed, and leaned up against the door next to him, looking earnestly up at his face, “it didn’t matter. But in the moment? I didn’t know Shane was going to come home and save the day. All I knew was that my baby was dying, and I had to make a choice. One gave him a fifty-fifty shot of survival, and the other was one in a million. I chose fifty-fifty. Daryl, amputating his wings is Castiel’s fifty-fifty shot.”

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, a retort on his lips, but when he went to voice it, it fell flat. He rested his head back against the door, catching a glimpse of the crowd in the living room, watching them, and what would have normally humiliated him didn’t seem to matter then. He could hear Cas panting, crying through the walls and all he wanted to do was say yes. Lori was right. Maggie was right. They had to take his wings, but…

“It’s not like an arm or a leg or something,” Daryl muttered, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand and willing himself not to tear up in front of an audience, “if it was, it’d still be bad but it'd be different. These are his wings, Lori. The last little bit of angel he has left, that he didn’t even know he had!”

“I know,” Lori said, a tear plummeting down her cheek and this time when she reached out and grabbed his arm, he let her, “and when he wakes up, and realizes what we had to do, it’ll devastate him. But it won’t kill him Daryl.”

“I can’t be the one to do this,” he said, voice cracking and Lori squeezed his arm tighter, “You can’t ask me to decide something like this.”

“Sweetheart, you have to. You’re his family,” Lori shook his arm gently, imploring him, “and it’s an impossible choice, but you need to be the one to make it. No one in this room will do anything to Castiel without your go ahead. And if you decide to let us save him, we will do everything we can to make it so. You have to make this choice, but you don’t have to face the consequences on your own.” She let go of his arm, and running her fingers down past his wrist, took his hand in hers and held on tight, “I’m here. We all are. What do you need us to do?”

Daryl breathed deep, staring down at their joined hands, Lori’s slim fingers dwarfed against his own. She was trembling, just like him, and it comforted him to know she was as terrified as he was. This was too big, too much crammed into one short night, and he didn’t want this responsibility. This shouldn’t be his decision to make, and how in the hell did he have any right to choose what happened to Castiel’s body, physical or otherwise? It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. But Cas was dying, just one room over, and the longer he stood here, the longer he held out, the closer he got to losing him for good.

And Daryl couldn’t bear the thought.

He couldn’t stand to think that he might wake up the next morning, with Castiel just gone. That he would go about his day without hearing his voice, or his laugh. That he would never be near him again, or know the feel of his arms around his shoulders, warm and yielding, or know what it was like to kiss him. That he’d never see his smile, or his blue eyes, or his beautiful hands. He’d never speak to him, or joke with him, or tease him ever again.

That would be every day of his life, for the rest of his life. Until he started to forget him, and everything that made Castiel who he was would be just a distant memory.

It was selfish and Daryl knew it.

But he couldn’t let him go without a fight.

“Okay,” he said softly, squeezing Lori’s hand one last time before letting it go, her face awash with relief as he walked over to the group once more, “We’ll go with Glenn and Maggie’s idea. Check out his wings, and if Glenn is right, we’ll amputate what we have to.”

“How are we gonna see them?” Shane asked for the second time that night.

“If we’re right, and Cas’ wings are hidden in a pocket dimension like hell hounds are, then ‘a glass scorched with holy fire’ should let us see it.” Andrea read from her book, patting Daryl’s knee comfortingly as he sat down beside her, “Presumably, a pair of glasses burned in holy fire should work, but what makes fire holy?”

“We have holy oil in the car,” Daryl said absently, remembering the stone urn in the trunk of the Impala, “Burn some of that, and I think you’ve got holy fire.”

“Daddy’s the veterinarian, so I’m assuming he’s gonna have to amputate. He’s done this before, never on a bird I don’t think, but on other animals, and he knows a bit about wings…” Maggie shrugs, “we have chickens?”

“Yeah, I can tell you right now,” Shane said, running a hand over his mouth with a mirthless chuckle, “Cas ain’t got chicken sized wings. Those suckers are gonna be like six feet in either direction, at least. Where would we have the space for those? And how do we touch them, much less amputate them? They’re not even on this plane.”

“Leave that to me,” Lori said, still standing by the door with her hands in her pockets.

“Why?” Shane asked, eyes narrowing, “What do you know you ain’t sharing with the class?”

“Never mind,” Lori deflected, and kicking off the door, she walked over to the center of the room, “We need to start cleaning out the barn. It should be large enough to house Cas with his wings out, but we need to make sure its as sterile as we can possibly get it. Maggie, you, Beth and Glenn can clear it out. T and Shane, talk to Hershel and get everything he would need out there as soon as possible. Andrea and Carol, get Hershel’s glasses and whatever other frames you can find, clear glasses, cups, whatever, just start burning ‘em.” She paused, looking over at Daryl pointedly, and said, “We all have jobs to do, lets do 'em.”

She didn’t have to ask twice; the roomful of people scattered as soon as they could, leaving Lori and Daryl behind, standing in silence.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl,” she said, and when she turned he could see she was crying again, silently this time, “I really am, if there was some other way—”

“I know,” he said, solemnly looking down at his feet for lack of focus, “It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Sighing, Lori pulled something from the back of her jeans, and handed it to Daryl, its silver blade catching in the light, “but it’ll have to do for now. We’ll need this for his wings, regular knives won’t cut it.”

Daryl frowned at her, staring down at Castiel’s silver blade in her hand. “When did you take this?” he asked, grabbing the handle that was offered to him, pulling it from her grasp, “I left his weapons out on the lawn, I didn’t think to bring them in…”

“It’s not Cas’,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Then whose is it?”

“I don’t know,” Lori smiled somberly, her hands floundering at her sides, “I was... praying for Cas, for us to find a solution, and when I opened my eyes it was there, along with this.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a flattened candy bar wrapper, unfolding it and showing him the crudely drawn, circular designs drawn in blue pen on the inside, “It’s just a circle of runes, or sigils or something, but I know that this will let us interact with Cas’ wings.”

“How?” Daryl asked.

“I just know,” said Lori.

Daryl stared at it warily, biting his lip before catching Lori’s eye, and asked, “You prayed for this?”

“Yes.”

“And whoever answered just magically dumped this in front of you?”

“Yeah.”

“How can you be sure it was someone friendly?” he asked.

“I can’t,” Lori said, “but it’s all we got.”

And even though he knew better by then, he couldn’t deny she was right.


	32. In for a Penny, In for a Pound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I spoke too soon. Writers block is gone, just in time for me to start school XD I'm going back for the first time in two years, let's see if I'm as terrible at it as I remember!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, though be forewarned, there is graphic mention of amputation and mutilation, and lots of awful, hurt feelings. It gets better, I promise! 
> 
> Also, I take a lot of liberties with the multiverse, but if you're curious as to what I'm talking about when I mention different layers of heaven and hell, and different planes, check out the Dungeons and Dragons Great Wheel cosmology... I'm basing it all on that ;) just to inject a little more fantasy than theology into this series! Plus, it allows me to include some neat demons and monsters from Dungeons & Dragons and Pathfinder, which could turn out to be great fun!
> 
> Alright guys, sorry in advance for the rough feels! Enjoy!

 

The barn was a raucous flurry of activity, with everyone working tirelessly to get ready for what was coming next. No one spoke outside of doing their jobs, and there was a tension that hung in the air so thick, Daryl thought he might drown in it.

Maggie and Beth were busy setting up a cot in the center of the newly scrubbed barn, and he had to admire their handiwork. There wasn’t a speck of dirt in the place, and even though the smell of animals and walkers could never be completely cleaned away, it was still a leg up from when they started. He didn’t think it had been that clean since it was first built.

Across from them, on the far end of the barn, Andrea and Carol were standing in front of a metal bowl that sputtered with a thin orange flame. It was filled halfway with holy oil and set alight, and the two of them were taking turns dipping a small collection of glass objects and spectacles through the flame. Hershel’s glasses were already sitting next the bowl, folded neatly and scorched by fire, as were a few cups and one glass pitcher… an odd assortment, but they would get the job done.

“We’re going to need yours eventually,” Carol called when she caught his eye, pointing to the glasses that were perched low on the bridge of his nose. Daryl only blushed beet red, his focus snapping back on the runes he was painting on the barn floor as he ignored her.

Shane and T-Dog, along with Glenn (who they’d roped into helping them once most the barn was cleared) were dragging the ventilator across the lawn, as well as boxes of medical supplies that Hershel thought he might need. Hershel was thrown for a bit of a loop when they told him the plan, not knowing exactly what he was supposed to be operating on with only the barest hint of an idea of how to amputate a wing in the first place. He didn’t know the anatomy, he said, to which Shane told him they kind of looked like falcon wings, smaller and sharply pointed at the end. Since then, Hershel had been holed up in Cas’ room, prepping him for surgery and pouring over old anatomy textbooks from when he was in college, trying to kick-start his memory and prepare as best he could.

Daryl and Lori had ripped her scrap of paper in half, and began painting the runes around the cot in the center of the barn, working in opposite directions. It was tough, tedious work; the runes were unlike any he’d seen before, complex combinations of lines and circles inside of a larger circle, all interwoven and connected. He heard Lori curse from her half of the room, and watched as she smeared away a section of still wet pain, blowing away a lock of hair that fell across her face and starting again on the complicated sigil.

Something still didn’t feel right about using those runes. He knew from experience that when something supernatural gifts you something out of the blue, there’s usually a catch or ulterior motive. There had been with his visions, and there was certainly something more going on with these runes. But Lori was insistent, and as much as Daryl hated to admit playing fast and loose with Castiel’s life… there were no other options.

Really, truly. No other options at all. He’d whipped through every transmutation spell he came across, and they either didn’t have the ingredients, the time or the wherewithal to perform them. Lori’s spell was the only thing they had, their last-ditch effort and from that last agonizing cry that just carried across the field to the barn, Cas had no time left for them to hmm and haw over it.

Daryl adjusted his glasses, squinting down at the piece of paper and painting another long, swooping line on the ground when he heard someone walk up to him. They stopped next to him, and Daryl spied the tapered toes of Rick’s boots. Without looking up at him, Daryl asked, “Thought you’d be busy packing up your shit.”

Rick at least had the good graces to laugh bashfully. “Well, considering Lori is out here helping you,” he said, crouching down next to Daryl as he watched Lori shuffle along on her knees, painting complicated sigils and cursing under her breath, “I figured I might as well offer my help, too.”

_That wasn’t what you were saying earlier_ , Daryl thought bitterly. He kept his gaze steadfastly on the ground, on the task at hand, but Rick didn’t leave. He ignored him completely, but Rick still stuck around, eventually settling on the ground next to him, as if waiting for Daryl to ask him what he wanted. Daryl sat back on his heels and sighed, closing his eyes tight and trying to figure out what to say to the man he’d thought had completely written him and Cas off, only a few hours ago.

_Daryl followed Rick out of the house, hot on his heels as he raced down the porch and onto the lawn. The light flicked on behind them, casting long, drawn out shadows across the grass, before flicking out and plummeting them back into eerie red darkness. It was like being in a dark room, with every other color muted underneath the hazy red glow of the moon, and the sound of crying carried from the living room window alongside hushed voices, striking up a discordant melody._

_Outside, there was nothing but Daryl and Rick, the world cast into complete silence._

_Daryl sprinted after him, catching up and grabbing his arm in an attempt to stop him, “Rick! C’mon, just hear me out, I—"_

_Rick whirled around the instant Daryl’s hand skirted his forearm and jabbed his finger into the center of Daryl’s chest. “No! I’ve heard enough out of you man! I’ve heard enough supernatural_ garbage _to last me a fucking lifetime!”_

_“It’s not garbage!” Daryl snapped, swatting Rick’s hand away from his chest irately and stepping in until they were toe to toe, “Rick, you saw what happened tonight! You saw that thing inside of Shane and you felt how strong it was! You saw Cas, and— whatever it was he did, how can you just ignore that?”_

_“I can’t!” Rick cried, planting both hands against Daryl’s chest and shoving him backwards, sending him reeling in an attempt to get him away. Daryl stumbled, but kept his feet, and though he balled his hands into fists at his sides, wanting so badly to strike back, he held his ground. There wasn’t any way he’d convince Rick not to flip his lid if he hit him, so he stood back and let Rick compose himself._

_“This morning, when I woke up, I thought the worst of my problems were the walkers and Randall. Now, not even twenty-four hours later, I’ve learned that angels and demons are real, and God is real by default. I’ve learned that this is the end, the apocalypse, and if that wasn’t bad enough, now Satan himself is headed our way!” Rick ranted like a mad man, speaking in a cutting, hushed tone, trying (but failing) to keep his voice down, and he asked desperately, “I mean, really, the Devil? Are you sure?”_

_Daryl nodded solemnly, and Rick made a horrid noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob._

_“I wouldn’t’ve been certain if it weren’t for Shane,” Daryl said, “Rick, I didn’t know about any of this. I mean, sure, I knew that Cas used to be an angel, and I knew that there were monsters and shit, and yeah, that in itself is pretty damn incriminating, but Lucifer? The apocalypse? I didn’t know any of that! And I definitely had no idea Castiel was involved.”_

_“He wasn’t just involved, Daryl.” Rick said scathingly, “He caused it! He’s at the eye of this fucking shit-storm! He’s the reason we’re here in the first place!”_

_“I know.” Daryl said._

_“And what, you just don’t care?” Rick demanded, hands thrown out to his sides incredulously._

_Daryl scoffed, “Of course I do! Of course I care, but what good is it getting angry about shit I can’t change?! What’s done is done, there’s no undoing it, so we might as well just get over it and move on! Standing out here, yelling at each other and arguing about whose fault it was ain’t gonna help Cas!”_

_“I don’t want to help Cas…” Rick said, fists clenched as he stalked forwards, his voice raising to a fever pitch as he shouted, “I want his head on a_ fucking _platter! I want him gone, Daryl! Off this fucking farm, as far away as we can get him!”_

_“Watch your mouth, asshole!” Daryl roared, shoving him backwards and following through, getting right up in Rick’s face, “Cas ain’t going nowhere! We can’t move him anyways, Hershel said he couldn’t take the stress. If we move him, he’ll die.”_

_Rick set his jaw and stared him straight in the eye as he hissed, “Good riddance.”_

_Daryl heard his knuckles crack against Rick’s jaw before he even realized he’d thrown a punch._

_Caught off guard, Rick let out a startled “oomph!” and fell backwards, stumbling as his heels slipped off of the dewy grass and landing heavily on his backside. He groaned and cradled his jaw, padding his fingers along to his lips, checking the damage before glaring at Daryl from the ground. “How are you still defending him?” Rick asked, sincerely at a loss, “After everything he did—”_

_“We don’t_ know _what he did!” Daryl cried, rubbing at his sore knuckles with his other hand, “Not really. All we have is Shane’s side of the story, which he learned from a demon who was possessing him at the time. We don’t know, and we won’t know what actually happened until Cas wakes up, and can speak for himself.”_

_“So he can lie, you mean?” Rick said, wiping the side of his mouth and grimacing at the small smear of blood on the back of his hand, “Like he’s been lying this whole time, man, and he’s been lying to you, too!”_

_“I know,” said Daryl._

_“Then are you just that fucking stupid?” Rick asked, pushing up onto his knees and stumbling back onto his feet, “Or were you blinded by his big doe eyes, his pretty smile? Because I’ve been there and done that too man, and I can sympathize as much as the next guy, but eventually Daryl, you just have to wake up!”_

_“I’m not gonna defend myself to you. Or Cas, for that matter. And I’m not going to waste my time trying to make you understand that I care about him. It ain’t worth it, and you ain’t willing to hear it,” Daryl sighed and shook his head, “All I can say, Rick, is we’re at a stalemate. If Shane’s right, and I really think he is, then we can be expecting a fairly sizeable walker house call sometime in the next few days. Demons too, probably.”_

_Rick stared at him blankly, and Daryl asked, “You ever read Lord of the Rings? Well, if Cas is the ring, then Lucifer is Sauron, and he is laser focussed on this farm. Castiel is the only angel, fallen or not, that still exists on this earth, and Lucifer ain’t just gonna stand by and let a being that could cause problems for him down the line walk free. And that firebomb of angelic power that Cas used to take down Mephistopheles? That’s gonna bring every Croat in Georgia down on us. You can hate Cas all you want, you can spit and hiss and be angry, but right now? We need to get him fixed up, so we can get the_ hell _out of here!”_

_As his last words echoed in the silence surrounding them, Daryl realised the voices previously drifting from the house were gone. There was no crying, no murmured consolations, and when he turned, it was to familiar faces pressed up against the windows, watching the two of them as they argued on the lawn. Andrea, Carol and Glenn stared at them from the living room window, T and Shane from the front door (that they’d left wide open in their haste to get outside), all of them confused and terrified. And from Castiel’s bedroom window, Lori looked at him, their eyes meeting across the red tinged dark, her pale face streaked with angry tears, before she yanked the curtain shut._

_“No,” Rick murmured behind him, and Daryl tore his gaze from their captive audience when Rick repeated, louder than before, “No way man, not this time. If we can’t move Cas, then we’ll leave the farm instead. Tomorrow morning, my family, and whoever else wants to come with us, are gonna load up into our cars and leave.”_

_“Rick, you can’t be serious.” Daryl said after a beat._

_“I’m not going to put my family at risk!” Scoffing, Rick roughly ran a shaking hand through his hair and said, “I already have, without even knowing it, by trusting Cas! This whole time, he knew! He knew what was going on, he knew about Shane, and he said nothing!”_

_“Probably because he knew how well you’d handle it…” Daryl said snidely._

_“I’m through!” Rick threw his hands up, backing away from Daryl suddenly and violently, his voice sounding across the field as he shouted half-hysterically, “I’m done! I can’t keep my family here, waiting it out, trying to heal a man I want nothing to do with, caring for a man who couldn’t even afford us the same courtesy—”_

_“That’s fucking bullshit,” Daryl hissed, his voice dropping low as he stepped into Rick’s space, jamming his hands in his pockets lest he do something stupid, like hit him again, “Cas has saved your ass time and again, you just never realized. He dealt with the spirits in the C.D.C. just so they’d stay out of your hair and let you leave in peace. He took care of that Djinn out there, so it wouldn’t hurt nobody else. And he saved you from Shane. Shane would have shot you, and sold his goddamned soul to Mephistopheles for his trouble, if it hadn’t’ve been for Cas.”_

_That seemed to hit a nerve. Rick floundered, his eyes widening momentarily as he stammered, weakly defending himself, “He should’ve said something, then. Keeping it from us, its not right…”_

_“Of course its not right!” Daryl said, shoulders sagging exasperatedly, his frustration mounting as they talked in circles, “He knew it wasn’t right, but how do you think that conversation would have gone? You’d have thought he was insane. You still do, I can see it in your eyes.”_

_Rick stiffened defensively and Daryl held his hands up in defeat. “And that’s fine,” he said, “that’s normal. I thought he was batshit crazy too, at first! But when you see this shit… when it happens right in front of you, you’d be crazy not to believe it.” Daryl sighed, running a hand over his mouth and locking eyes with Rick, outwardly pleading for him to back down, to change his mind and_ understand, “ _He’s scared Rick, and I know, all of us are, but we’re just dealing with the apocalypse. Castiel? He’s dealing with a whole lot more. You haven’t seen what he carries, man. The weight of all that guilt and confusion. We’ve had our whole lives to get used to what it means to be human. All the nitty gritty shit we don’t even think about anymore, but Cas didn’t get that. He was just tossed out of Heaven with the bathwater, and he still struggles with being human to this day. He didn’t say anything because he was scared of what we would think, what we’d say and do. He fucked up. And that in itself is just… incredibly human.”_

_For the first time in a long time, Rick was silent. He bit his lip, frowning as he studied Daryl’s face, and what he was looking for, Daryl couldn’t say. He seemed as though he was debating something, rolling through his next sentence in his mind, and deciding whether or not to say it out loud. And eventually, after a long, quiet pause, the sound of their breathing the only thing to break the quiet of the world around them, Rick whispered, “But he’s_ not _human, is he?”_

_Daryl’s exhaled sharply, Rick’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut._

_“I know what you want from me, and I can’t do it Daryl,” Rick said softly, shaking his head as he backed away, mind made up, “You can’t ask me to forgive him, and you can’t ask me to stay.” He turned, a clear dismissal, “We’re leaving Daryl, end of discussion.”_

That had been it. End of discussion indeed, Rick had walked off and avoided Daryl ever since. So now, face to face with Rick again, who seemed content to pretend that their previous altercation never happened, Daryl couldn’t help but feel a little miffed. Who did Rick think he was? And how much of a pushover did he think _Daryl_ was? After everything Rick had said about Castiel, did he honestly believe he could just sweep it all under the rug, just ‘cause his wife decided they were making the wrong call? No. There was no way in hell Daryl was going to let him off that easily, and as Daryl went back to painting sigils onto the floor, he asked, “What are you doing out here, man?”

Rick sighed, “I wanted to apologize.”

Daryl looked up at him incredulously, and Rick rolled his eyes, taking the scrap of candy bar wrapper and the paintbrush from Daryl’s hands despite his protests, and starting to draw the sigils instead. Hovering nearby, Daryl shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do with himself as the other man took over, until Rick motioned for him to sit. He lowered himself to the ground, watching warily as Rick squinted down at the crudely drawn symbols, picking up where Daryl left off.

“Yeah, I know,” Rick said drolly, “Surprise, surprise. But it seems we’re staying for the time being, and I figured I may as well make myself useful. Besides, if I just stood by and let Castiel die, my wife would kill me.”

Daryl scoffed, “That’s funny, ‘cause just a few hours ago, both you and your wife were willing to do just that. So, what does this mean? You ain’t leaving anymore? You had a change of heart, and decided Cas isn’t evil incarnate?”

“No, I’m still pissed,” Rick said, sweeping the paintbrush across the floor, dragging a line of red paint through three small circles, “And I don’t think I’ll be back to swapping jokes and drinking beers with Cas anytime soon, but…”

He paused, paint brush hovering over the ground, his hand trembling so minutely Daryl scarcely picked up on it. Rick’s fingers tightened around the wooden handle, and he grit his teeth before sitting back on his heels with a sigh, dropping the brush and the paper to the ground. He ran his hand over his eyes, pausing for a moment before looking over at Daryl and saying, “Carl talked to us. He was angry, and he didn’t want to leave. At first, I thought it was just because he was afraid, that he didn’t want to leave the farm, or the rest of you, but he was mad we were leaving Cas.”

“Smart kid,” Daryl intoned.

“Yeah, too smart for his own good,” Rick muttered, then shook his head with a smile, “he said Cas was like Wolverine. An anti-hero. And he said some stuff that made me feel like a bag of shit, but that don’t matter right now. What matters is, he was right to say it. Daryl, I was wrong,” he said, “and I sincerely apologize. Honestly, some of what I said about Cas, the assumptions I made about him and you? I was way out of line. If you’d said that shit about Lori, I’d have lost it on you too, so why should you and Cas be any different? I am so, so sorry.”

Daryl looked him over, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

He certainly seemed sorry. He also seemed like he was worn ragged, his clothes in disarray, his hair unkempt and bags under his eyes the likes of which Daryl had never seen before. He looked unhinged and desperate, and when Rick spoke it was hurried and tight, like he was trying to keep from snapping. Like he was hanging on by a knifes edge, and Daryl softened, just a little, when he remembered what Rick had been through in the past night alone.

He’d almost been shot by his best friend, who was then possessed by a demon. He’d seen Castiel and Daryl exorcise said demon, found out Cas used to be an angel and about the existence of God and the Devil all in one fell swoop. And Daryl also remembered, though it was distant and hazy, muddled as he’d heard it through a drug addled stupor, what Lori had told Castiel after they’d saved him from the Djinn. When they were sitting by Daryl’s bedside… when they were still thick as thieves. Lori had told Cas not to come clean to Rick about the supernatural, not yet anyways, because she was afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it. “I’m worried about him,” she’d said, “He’s holding on by a thread and I think if he knew that ghosts and demons were real… that might be the last straw, you know?”

And apparently, she wasn’t that far off. Rick was barely keeping it together, vibrating on the razors edge between sanity and total system failure.

“It’s fine,” Daryl said, even though it wasn’t. “I get it,” he said, even though he didn’t. “I’m just glad you ain’t leaving…” he said, and that at least held some modicum of truth, “Cas will be too.”

If he had to swallow his pride, Daryl decided, he would do it.

He had Cas to worry about at that moment. Everything could wait until he was out of the woods.

Daryl sat back, crossing his legs and pulling out his pack of smokes, wincing as he saw he was down to his last three. He lit one, ignoring Carol’s reprimands from across the barn, taking a long haul as he watched Rick paint the sigils onto the floor. They didn’t speak, they had nothing left to say it seemed, and Rick seemed perfectly content to throw himself into a task at hand. One that was concrete and real, that he could touch and interreact with… that he could understand. And Daryl was happy to sit in silence, to enjoy one last little reprieve before they had to cart his lover out to the barn, so they could mutilate him and hopefully save his life.

But Rick had to go and ask, “Did you even believe in God? Before Cas, I mean?”

“Hell no! Do I look like the church goin’ type to you?” Daryl laughed out loud and shook his head, “No, I ain’t never believed in God, and I certainly didn’t believe in angels, neither. I always knew there was something more out there, though.”

“Because you can move things with your mind?” Rick asked, straight to the point.

Daryl winced, “That’s actually a new development.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you imagine having vivid dreams about your mom burning alive, and waking up to the scent of burning flesh, when you were only Carl’s age?” Daryl asked, and Rick looked up sharply, paint brush stilling against the floor, “Or having a huge, gangly looking creature stalk you through the woods for months at a time, every time you went out hunting? Being in school, and hearing people talking to you, that ain’t there? Or seeing fifteen pairs feet under your bed at night, every night, for a week straight?”

Rick shook his head.

“That’s the kind of shit I grew up with,” Daryl said, taking along haul of his cigarette, “the kind of shit I just… blocked out as best I could. I ignored it, and eventually, it just became back burner. I’d still hear and see things, but they were muted, you know? Like they were on the other side of a window. Since Cas figured out what I am, however, and what I can do, I’ve been opening that window, bit by bit. And apparently, I can do all kinds of stuff that probably would have come in handy when I was a kid— like making Hershel’s fireplace implode by snapping my fingers.”

With a wry grin, Rick seemed to shake off his initial shock, going back to the sigil he was working on without missing a beat. “I’m sure Hershel appreciated that, by the way,” he said.

Daryl shrugged, “Couldn’t think of another way to convince you all without a demonstration.”

“Fair enough,” Rick admitted, though he paused his painting again, turning to Daryl as he asked, “It doesn’t worry you though? Using this power of yours, knowing it came from a demon?”

Daryl balked. What came from a demon? Rick must have recognized his confusion (and how could he not, with Daryl sitting there, a half-burned smoke hanging from his lips as he gaped at him like a fish), and elaborated, “Mephistopheles was talking about it tonight, with Cas. He said your power came from a demon named Azazel, that he made a deal with your mother before you were born. Something about Sam Winchester too, apparently he did something similar to him… I didn’t catch all the details.”

_Ego sum vigilantes, vos filius satanas._

“Filius Satanas…” Daryl muttered. That was what Mephistopheles had said to him, wasn’t it?

Son of Satan.

“What was that?” Rick asked.

“I said no, it doesn’t bother me,” Daryl said quickly, keeping his face impassive and lying through his teeth, even as his heart pounded in his chest, “Cas seems cool with it, and he’s the expert so, I just defer to him.”

“Having all that experience though, with the paranormal, probably made it easier to accept that Cas was an angel, right?”

Daryl nodded absently, gnawing on the filter of his smoke and taking a long, hard drag. He exhaled through his nose, staring at the sigils on the floor but not really seeing them, his mind reeling with the implication of what Rick had just said.

Who the _fuck_ was Azazel?

What the _hell_ did he do to his mom?

Was that jack-ass the reason she _died_?

How was he connected to _Sam Winchester_?

_What_ was he supposed to take away from all this _?_

“Doesn’t this just strike you as too big, though?” Rick asked, and Daryl shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it, to focus on the present and not the bombshell Rick had inadvertently dropped on him, “The Apocalypse. Lucifer, fuck, its like we’re in a bad, B-rate movie horror movie! And… the fact that Cas was an angel, how does that not _bother_ you?”

Daryl frowned, “Why would that bother me?”

“Because he’s an _angel_ , man!” Rick exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Lets just forget for a moment that you’re in a relationship with him, which on its own has to open up a ton of theological dilemmas… He’s not even your species. He’s limitless. What happens if he’s forgiven? If he becomes an angel again? He’s not like you or me. I’m not blind, Daryl,” he said, ducking his head to look Daryl in the eyes when he tried to avert his gaze, “none of us are. It might have taken me longer than most, but its clear as day you’re in love with him. I don’t know if I would be brave enough to take that risk. What if he chooses Heaven over you? Is he worth it?”

“Of course he’s worth it,” Daryl said, without missing a beat, “he’s Cas. Whatever he was, or is, or did doesn’t matter.” Daryl crushed his cigarette into the ground, watching as the embers sputtered and died underneath, “He’s everything, he’s the only thing… he’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I would do _anything_ to do right by him.” 

“Even if that means letting him go?” Rick asked.

“Even then.”

Daryl held his gaze, the noise of the barn, the sound of quiet conversation and work fading away, and Rick gave as good as he got, staring right back. He was sizing Daryl up, trying to figure out exactly what his motivation was, and where he was coming from, doubting once again how he felt about Cas, even though he expressly admitted to knowing Daryl loved him. Rick was pushing him admit it was real, that his feelings for Cas weren’t superfluous or flighty, that it wasn’t just a momentary attraction or a passing fling. He wanted to know that he was putting his life and trust in the hands of someone who truly believed in what they were doing.

And Daryl passed, apparently. Rick smiled slow as molasses, nodded once, and went back to work, painting sigils on the floor without another word. Feeling his dismissal as clear as if he’d said it out loud, Daryl stood up and walked over to Carol and Andrea, handing over his glasses, which they took graciously.

“Not to sound like I’m doubting your mastery of the dark arts,” Andrea said, sounding _exactly_ like that, as she ran Daryl’s glasses through the flames, “but how do you know this is going to work?”

“We don’t,” Lori answered for him, brushing dirt off of her jeans as she walked over to them, “Its just a spell for manifesting Celestial beings on the material plane, so I’m hoping, since Cas’ wings are Celestial-ish, that this spell will let us touch them.”

“So we’re running off of another theory?” Carol asked, watching through the doorway as T-Dog walked across the lawn, Castiel slung over his shoulder and Shane close by holding his IV. Hershel was right behind them, talking to Maggie and Glenn, giving them rapid fire instructions on what he needed them to do and when.

“Theories are all we got,” Daryl murmured, eyebrows pinching together in a deep frown as T stepped into the barn, glad to see Castiel was already unconscious when he set him down on the cot in the center of the barn. “How is he?” Daryl asked Hershel when he stopped by the table, handing his glasses over to Andrea.

“Not well,” Hershel said softly, casting a baleful look over his shoulder at Castiel, “He’s hovering right at the precipice of acute respiratory failure, and we are not prepared to handle that. If this doesn’t work, then—”

“It’ll work,” Lori said, handing Hershel back his glasses decisively, “Let me know when Cas is set, and I’ll activate the sigils. It’ll only last a few hours, so we need to work fast.”

Hershel nodded, and stepped away to work on Castiel, laying him flat on his stomach and hooking him up to the ventilator before injecting his IV with a small assortment of syringes. Maggie was wiping down the blade Lori had procured with alcohol, griping about how unsanitary this all was, while Glenn swabbed around Cas’ scars as per Hershel’s request.

Castiel’s back looked atrocious, Daryl realized with a grimace. Much worse than the last time he saw it. His skin was swollen and distended so far that when Glenn accidentally pushed into it a little too hard, the depression of his fingers stayed behind, indented in against the black-blue and purple bruising. The bruises were surrounded with harsh, red, vein like tendrils that reached up and out from Castiel’s back towards his neck, and Castiel’s bare toes and thin fingertips were an unnatural shade of blue.

“Daryl,” Lori nudged him in the side, “Hershel’s waiting for you.”

Daryl’s heart dropped into his stomach when he looked up, and saw that she was right. All eyes were on him, waiting for him to join Hershel in the circle of sigils so they could begin.

He wondered, and not for the first time that night, why he had to be the one to help.

Lori shoved him again, harder this time, and as he stumbled forwards into the circle, Hershel put on his glasses. “Ready when you are—” Hershel began, cutting off in a choked gasp when he looked up at Castiel, his eyes all but bulging from his skull as he murmured, “Holy mother of God…”

Taking him at his word, Lori began the incantation, speaking Enochian like she was born to do it, her pronunciation perfect and clear as a bell, “Odzamran ar das bolape emna.” Someone gasped, and the sigils at Daryl’s feet began to glow a bright, otherworldly white. They seemed to shift upon the floor, keeping their distance from each other but spinning, moving around the circle with Castiel at it’s apex, the glow growing in intensity until Daryl was forced to shut his eyes, covering them against the burning light.

Before Daryl could open his eyes, he knew the spell had worked. He heard Castiel’s wings hit the floor as they manifested, and heard T-Dog cry out in shock when one of them smacked into him. Dust and lingering pieces of hay wafted up from the ground, unsettled by the gigantic wings that had suddenly come into being and Daryl could hear as Hershel stepped around the barn, chuckling disbelievingly under his breath.

Opening his eyes, Daryl’s gaze went straight to Castiel, and his breath hitched in his throat.

Laying on the low cot on his stomach, Castiel was completely dwarfed by two enormous wings, pitch black and beautiful. Hershel was already walking the perimeter of Cas’ wings, stroking his feathers and shaking his head, his expression a mixture of hysterical shock and amazement, and when Hershel grabbed the end of the right one, pulling it out as far as he could to assess the damage, it stretched all the way to the edge of the barn.

They’re gigantic, Daryl thought to himself, tears prickling at his eyes as he strolled the length of the left wing, caressing his fingers through the soft, ragged feathers. They were gorgeous and powerful, tightly corded muscle wrapped sinuously around lightweight bone, a faint blue glow pulsing underneath the dark feathers in some sections, and yet they were also horribly damaged. There was no way they were capable of flight, not with most of the feathers torn and singed, scattered sparsely around huge bald patches. Some sections were disfigured, and along the roots, there were deep scars, left over from a terrible burn. They had been torn and punctured in places, some healed well, others not and the left wing had obviously been broken, left to heal at a terrible angle.

“He’s not going to feel any of this, right?” Daryl asked, his voice small and timid as he stopped next to Castiel, running his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair and cringing when he saw the raw, open wounds that marred the base of his wings.

“No, I put him under. He shouldn’t feel a thing,” Hershel said, still wandering the length of Castiel’s wings in a daze, “Daryl, I’ve never seen anything like this, these are majestic! Maggie, Beth, I wish you could see this…”

From behind them, someone whispered a shaky, “Oh, my god,” just seconds before a glass hit the floor and shattered.

Hershel and Daryl both snapped into the present, whirling to find Andrea standing perfectly still at the edge of the circle, her hands still held out in front of her where she was looking through the glass, which lay broken at her feet. “They’re real,” she muttered, her voice cracking and all the colour draining from her face, “It’s _real_ , this is all… real.” Carol hurried to her side, backing her up and helping her to sit down away from the shards of glass, her own face pallid, and Daryl could only assume she’d looked at Castiel’s wings, too. They all had, from the looks of it, and a myriad of shocked and frightened faces looked on at him in confusion, waiting for what was coming next, but not knowing where to go from there.

“Everyone out,” Daryl called, shouting across the barn and waving the crowd of onlookers away, “Now! We need to get this show on the road.” The group scattered, hurrying outside of the barn, some faster than others. Andrea couldn’t get out of there fast enough, but Rick took his time, carefully sidestepping the gigantic expanse of Castiel’s wings with a look of panicked wonder, looking almost comical with a drinking glass held up to his eye like a telescope. Only Shane, Hershel and Maggie stayed behind, Maggie at Hershel’s behest and Shane because no one could tell him to go. He just stood there, back against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Castiel like he wasn’t sure he was real. Like if he so much as blinked, he would disappear.

“Well, it seems Glenn’s hypothesis was right.” Hershel said when everyone else was gone, and Daryl immediately walked over to him, his heart sinking for the umpteenth time that night when Hershel pointed to a large swath of Cas’ right wing. “This whole section here,” he moved over to the left wing, gesturing with his palm over the large, greenish-black section of bare skin, mottled with sores, the otherworldly blue glow decidedly absent, “and here, are already partially decomposed. And over here,” he pointed to the base of both wings, where they protruded from Castiel’s sore, swollen back, “is where wet gangrene has set in. This is where the infection is stemming from, right here at the base.”

“There’s no saving them, is there?” Daryl asked, his voice quiet.

“I’m sorry son,” Hershel said, laying his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and squeezing tightly, “You have to believe I would do anything in my power to keep from doing this, but after seeing the extent of the damage here, there is truly no other way. We have to take them both.”

Daryl exhaled shakily, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he processed what Hershel was saying. He was prepared for it, or at least, he’d been trying to prepare for it, ever since Maggie had first suggested the possibility of having to amputate them. He’d been mulling it over, trying to convince himself that this was for the best, that they had to do whatever they could to save Castiel’s life. But it wasn’t until that moment, surrounded by Cas’ very real wings, physically manifested and gigantic, that the horror of what they were about to do really set in.

They weren’t going to _take_ his wings.

They weren’t just stealing them away somewhere.

They were going to hack them off.

Hershel was going to take that magically procured knife and slice into Castiel’s flesh. He was going to sever tendons and blood vessels, tear out feathers, snap Castiel’s bones and rip them off his body, from the dead tip of each wing to the sore, sick base. He was going crunch and slice and saw until there was nothing left, just two gaping scars protruding from Castiel’s back as there always were. Only this time, it would be for real. There would be no pocket dimension, housing wings Castiel didn’t know he still had.

They would be gone forever. And with them, they would be severing the last tie Castiel had to heaven, the only connection he had left to who he used to be, and they were doing it without him knowing. Castiel had never given his consent, and granted, he couldn’t, but that didn’t change anything. Daryl knew him, prided himself on knowing him better than any other person left on their godforsaken planet, and he knew in his heart that Cas could never get over this. To learn that he still had his wings, that all this time, though he was cut off from the host, he was still an angel, only to have them _cut off_ while he was passed out and dying?

Lori was right.

This would devastate him.

“I can’t do this,” Daryl said quietly, muttering under his breath and backing away from Castiel’s side.

“What?” Hershel snapped, looking up from Castiel’s wings, “Daryl, you have to! I need another set of hands, and you’re the only other person here right now who can see his wings.”

“I can’t!” Daryl cried, his fingers digging into his palms so hard he almost broke the skin, and Hershel took a startled step back at his outburst, “You don’t get it, I can’t do this to _him_! I know it needs to be done, but I _can’t be the one to do it_!”

“Daryl,” Maggie said, eyebrows pinched together as she looked at him pityingly, “we know that this is hard, but Daddy’s right. I would help him, but the only way I can see Cas’ wings is looking through the bottom of a drinking glass, and he needs someone with both hands free and a clear line of sight. We need you to do this, to save him.”

“You don’t understand,” Daryl said, his voice cracking, muscles tense and firing with the desire to run, to fight, to make that horrible, nagging guilt disappear, “He’d never forgive me, and I can’t— I can’t _hurt_ him! Fuck, did you make Lori dig bullet shards out of her son!? No! So why the hell are you expecting me to…” he trailed off, breathing heavily, hot, angry tears welling in his eyes and blurring his vision. “Please,” he sputtered, catching Hershel’s eye as he begged, any shame and embarrassment he might have otherwise felt forgotten in a moment of desperation, “ _please_ don’t force me to do this.”

He was thankful for the veritably empty barn, and for having had the forethought to send everyone else away, as he was rapidly bordering on a full-scale hysterical outburst, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a child. Hershel, the barn, Maggie and Shane… they faded into the background, Daryl’s world narrowing into a laser focus onto the one thing he _just couldn’t do_. He could barely restrain himself from taking the knife from Hershel’s hands and running with it, keeping them from going anywhere near Cas’ wings with any malicious intent, but he knew better. He knew this was the only way to save his life, but to have to do it _himself_?

The thought made him sick. He was already drowning in guilt just letting it happen, and he knew that for the rest of his life, he would have to live with the knowledge that _he_ was compliant in Castiel losing his wings. No, he reminded himself, not just compliant. He gave them the go ahead. He told them to do it, because living with the guilt was better than living without Cas. But there was no way, no fucking way he could ever forgive himself for cutting them off himself.

“I’ll do it,” Shane said suddenly, speaking up from his corner of the barn, eyes narrowed as he walked towards them, “That way he doesn’t have to.”

Daryl looked up at him, jolting at the sound of his voice, his blood hammering in his ears and muffling Hershel as he said, “You can’t see them. Like Maggie already told you, I need someone with their hands free and clear sight. Daryl’s the only other person in this group who wears glasses, he’s the only one who can help me.”

“I _can_ see them,” Shane said, and in demonstration he reached out, running his fingers though Castiel’s feathers almost reverently, his expression twisting into something unreadable, “I don’t know what Mephistopheles did to me, but I’ve been able to see them since Lori brought them into this plane. I’ll help you, so Daryl doesn’t have to.” He looked up at Daryl, and said sadly, “I’m the reason he’s hurt in the first place. If it weren’t for me—”

“Shane, no,” Maggie interjected, arms crossed as she hovered near them, “it wasn’t your fault, you—”

“No, it was,” he said, and Daryl stood stock still, stuck in place as Shane walked over to his side and looked him in the eye, “Let me do this, please. Call it a ‘thank you,’ for sparing me when you could just as easily have killed me.”

“You don’t have to,” Daryl said softly, trying to hide the relief in his voice, “You don’t owe us nothin’.”

“I owe you _everything_ ,” Shane said, and with that, he clapped Daryl on the back and guided him towards the door, “Go up to the house. Relax, best you can. He’s in good hands.”

Hershel nodded his acquiescence, waving Shane over to his side as he started to size up Castiel’s left wing, and with one last pat on the shoulder Shane left Daryl hovering in the doorway, barely holding himself up by the frame. He breathed deeply and walked out the door, letting it slide shut behind him, grimacing as he heard the first horrible slice through Castiel’s flesh, and the sound of something heavy sloughing off and hitting the ground. Someone gagged, Maggie groaned and Daryl leaned back against the door, sliding down it until he was sitting in the dirt, both hands cupped over his mouth as he stared out across the blood red fields in horror.

He sat motionless for a long time, listening to the muted, horrid sounds filtering through the gaps in the barn, before he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with shaking hands. He forced himself to stay, to be there for Castiel, even if he couldn’t be in the same room. He made himself sit and listen in a silent vigil, as he as he smoked the last of his cigarettes.  

* * *

 

It was eight hours later, three hours removing Cas’ wings and the remaining five monitoring his condition back at the farmhouse, when Hershel had to sit Daryl down to give him the news.

Cas wasn’t going to make it.

“I’m so sorry Daryl,” Hershel said, sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to Castiel and his hands on his knees. He had his stethoscope looped around his neck, and as he sat it swayed across his chest, rasping against the starched fabric of his sweat stained shirt. His face was drawn, tired and defeated as he reached out to grasp one of Daryl’s hands, but Daryl wasn’t having it. He snatched his hand back from where they it was resting on his knees, crossing his arms across his chest and tapping his fingers against his biceps instead.

Daryl didn’t want comfort, and he didn’t want to be placated. He just wanted to know what the hell was still wrong with Cas. When they brought him back to the farmhouse, after the long and arduous process of removing his wings, Hershel had seemed hopeful. We got all of the dead and infected tissue, he’d told them, and a little while later, after Cas was settled into Hershel’s guest room once more, he’d told them his fever was breaking, and his heart rate had dropped back down to a normal level. It was all good news, and Castiel seemed to be recovering at record speed.

But then his heart rate kept dropping.

And dropping.

His breathing slowed, and Hershel had to intubate him once more. His heart had already stuttered and stopped once since then, forcing Hershel to resuscitate him. And there was nothing they could do, it seemed, to stop it from happening again. Everyone, from Daryl, to Lori, to Hershel, was at a loss. They’d removed what they thought was the source of the problem, but it was only a symptom. Castiel was still dying, only slower, and from what, they couldn’t say.

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry,” Daryl said through clenched teeth, “I want to know what’s wrong with him, so we can _fix him_.”

“We don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Hershel sighed, running a hand across his tired eyes, “And we’ve all been wracking our brains trying to find out, but… there’s nothing. There’s no reason for him to be dying, medical or otherwise. He just is.”

“I thought we fixed—I thought it was his _wings_. How the hell is he still sick?” Daryl asked, fingers digging into his upper arms as he willed himself to keep calm

“His wings were making him sick, yes,” Hershel said, calmly, with his doctor façade firmly in place, “And now that the antibiotics are kicking in, his fever is dissipating and he’s regained his color but underneath all of that, it’s like he’s barely clinging to life.”

“So, we just need to find out what’s causing it,” Daryl shook his head, leaning forward in his chair once more and looking past Hershel at Castiel, who was sleeping on his stomach, bare back looking so much better than before, even if it was only hours later. “We did it once,” he said, “we can do it again.”

Hershel shook his head sadly, “Son, I don’t know if we can.”

Daryl stared at him silently, processing what he had just said and trying to decide if stress and close to twenty-four hours with no sleep was finally getting to him or not. “Let me process this,” Daryl said with a derisive sniff, “You’re saying that after everything we’ve done to try and save him, he’s still gonna die?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And instead of continuing to look for a solution, you just want me to… what exactly? Give up? Let him go?” Daryl shook his head, “No fucking way.”

“I’m saying that it might be an inevitability at this point,” Hershel said, not moving a muscle and not looking away, “We’ve done all we could think to do, and more. But nothing is working, and I think it might be time for us to consider that Castiel may be…”

“May be what?” Daryl asked.

“Beyond saving,” Hershel replied.

Daryl scoffed and shook his head again, leaning back in his chair, a big old “fuck you” hovering at the tip of his tongue, but the look on Hershel’s face gave him pause. His jaw was set, lips pulled into a deep frown that tugged at his jowls, his cheeks sunken and his skin dull. His eyebrows were tented, set in a worried expression over his tires eyes that bored into Daryl’s own, shining wet and dull, absolutely miserable yet stern.

It was the eyes that really hit it home. Hershel was exhausted, mentally and physically, and defeated. He was done, having given everything he had in him to Castiel and when he looked at Daryl it was with desperation, begging without words for him to understand. He wasn’t giving up, there was just nothing more he could do. Saving Castiel was beyond him now.

“No,” Daryl breathed, head buzzing suddenly and he clung to his chair, feeling like the world had dropped out from under him, “No, there has to be something…”

But one look at Hershel’s grave expression told him there was nothing.

“You’re wrong,” he tried, his voice cracking and Hershel heaved a giant sigh, reaching out and resting his hand on Daryl’s knee in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but ended up feeling like a lead weight, “Not Cas. Cas is a fighter, he’s _strong._ He can’t… this can’t be it, he—”

“Daryl,” Hershel said softly, watching him with the same grave expression that Daryl didn’t want to see, the one that hammered home just how helpless he felt, “I’m so sorry, I wish I could do more, I truly do. And you’ve done everything you could, but sometimes, its not enough. We need to start thinking about what's best for Castiel now, and we must decide soon how you want to proceed.”

Daryl jumped up from his chair, Hershel snatching his hand back just in time as he stalked across the room, standing in front of the window with his back to the bed. Daryl’s breath hitched in his throat, catching wetly as he tried to remind himself to breathe at all. He could feel every pounding pull of his heart, could hear it in his ears as the ringing intensified, blocking out the sound of the ventilator and Hershel’s words of sympathy.

“Hershel, you—” Daryl cut himself off, biting his lip and staring furiously out the window in an attempt to stifle the sob that was gurgling in his throat, “I just need a minute.”

“Of course,” Hershel said softly, the bed creaking as he stood. Daryl heard him pad over to the door, and he called over his shoulder, “I’ll just be in the hallway if you need me.” Daryl didn’t answer, and Hershel didn’t speak again, letting the door close behind him on his way out into the hall.

The door clicked shut, Daryl counted to three, and then let himself fall apart.

He smashed his palm against the window frame, the panes of glass shuddering against their wooden jowls, and wounded sobs bubbled past his lips as he dropped to his knees. His forehead knocked against the wall with a dull thump as he leaned forward, flattening his palms out against the wooden panels before pulling one back in a fist and punching the wall: once, twice, three times, until his knuckles began to ache, his skin tearing on impact.

Pain shot up his arm, his skin prickling with heat and he looked down at his fist, his forehead grinding against the wall as he turned his head. His vision blurry, Daryl watched with a distant fascination, his hiccupping breaths and whimpering cries the only sounds he could pick out above the ringing in his ears, as blood oozed slowly from the scrapes across his knuckles. He blinked, clearing his eyes momentarily, just long enough for him to watch the tears splatter against his hand before his vision swam again, shifting and glistening, the room around him too bright, too devastating.

He felt heavy as he pulled himself to his feet, stumbling a crisscrossed path to the bed. It was as if he’d suddenly swelled to three times his size, like he’d gained a metric ton as his blood turned to lead in his veins, towing him down to the earth like stone. The bed sunk underneath him as he sat on its edge, jostling Castiel gently where he lay on his stomach, unconscious and pale, looking already half in the grave.

There was a small part of Daryl’s mind, a quiet and unruly piece of himself, that told him this was the end. It looked at Castiel, so small and weak amidst all of the tubes and wires, and said that it would be kinder to let him go. _Look at how sick he is_ , it told him, whispering viciously in his ear, _look at how badly he’s already suffered. You jammed him with needles and pumped him full of drugs, you hacked off his wings and for what? Nothing. He’s still dying_ , it said. _He’s dying, and you maimed him for nothing._

_Just let him go,_ it told him, _let him rest._

But God help him, he _couldn’t._

Daryl draped himself over Castiel’s back, supporting the brunt of his weight on his elbows as he dropped his forehead to the back of Castiel’s neck. His skin was cold, clammy with sweat and Daryl sobbed brokenly, tears splattering against Cas’ bare skin, beading and rolling down his sloping shoulders to soak into the sheets beneath them. He clutched at the sheets, balling them in his fists as he kissed the back of Cas’ neck, letting his lips linger against him, breathing him in, committing to memory the scent of pine needles and campfire that clung to Castiel like a second skin.  He nosed along Castiel’s hairline, against the unruly curls of dark hair that were matted with sweat, tangled worse than usual from writhing against the sheets in agony, and Daryl inhaled deeply, taking one last long, steadying breath before pulling away, and dropping to his knees beside the bed.

Gathering one of Castiel’s hands in his, careful not to disrupt his IV, Daryl brought it to his lips, lacing his fingers together around it before kissing the tips of Cas’ fingers with a shaky exhale. He closed his eyes tight, holding Cas’ hand against his forehead, leaning on his elbows which sunk into the mattress, feeling the chill from Cas’ skin seep into his bones.

He loved those hands.

There were mornings when he would lie awake, Castiel snuffling softly against his side, his limbs splayed across Daryl like a clingy octopus, where he would just hold his hand. He’d endure the six-foot ball of arms and legs weighing down on top of him, the sleep sweaty skin and the morning breath wafting along his cheeks, just to roll Cas’ thin fingers across his own. Massaging the calloused palms of Cas’ hands with his thumbs, admiring the tapered fingertips and ragged nails. Cas had caught him more than once admiring his hands, and with a wry smile he’d comment that Daryl seemed to have a fetish, but he never complained. And Daryl never denied it either.

He adored Castiel’s hands, though to assume it was just because he thought they were beautiful would be terribly remiss. Castiel’s hands on any other person would mean nothing to him and the only reason he loved them the way he did was because of who they belonged to. No others touch could light a fire in him the way Castiel’s could, never, not once in his whole life. When Cas slid his fingers across his brow, absentmindedly brushing back hair from Daryl’s eyes, the simple glide sent Daryl’s blood roaring. Or when Cas would wrap his fingers around Daryl’s wrist to get his attention, or lead him somewhere, because he was undoubtedly one of the most tactile people Daryl had every met, Daryl's heart would hammer in his chest at the first glance of fingertips across his skin.  And when Castiel would cling to him, his fingers digging deep into Daryl’s shoulders as he wrapped around him, holding on for dear life when they made love, Daryl felt like everything and nothing: powerful, yet unworthy of his touch.

He loved them for what they did. Through them, Castiel made his mark on the world, interacting with and leaving behind small vestiges of himself, souvenirs of his presence. His hands had brought John’s journal, the Impala, and every weapon or mystical item that changed Daryl’s world forever, into his life. They’d brought a sudden, unexpected yet deeply craved affection Daryl never knew he was missing, too. Cas' hands had rooted through Daryl’s things unapologetically, when the line between what was his and what was Castiel’s had blurred inexorably, and they’d both broken and mended the simple, unimportant items they used day by day.

Those hands had honed blades, slain monsters and skinned animals. They’d cradled frightened children, comforted loved ones and bolstered friends. They grabbed, hit, caressed and carried, and in doing so, they allowed Castiel to be one of _them._ He worked through his hands to understand the world around him, and became a part of it, slowly, descending from angel in a vessel to a nearly-mortal man.

It was in that moment, holding Castiel’s hand in his, that Daryl swore this wouldn't be the end. He stamped out the nagging, needling voice that told him, _this is for the best, hasn’t he suffered enough? Let him go._ And instead he decided once and for all that this _would not_ be the last time he held Castiel’s hand. He would wake up, Daryl would find a way to bring him back and he would be able to touch, to squeeze back, his fingers lacing through Daryl’s once again.

He would be able to drink, and eat and breathe again.

He would sleep in way too late, and fight tooth and nail to spend the day in bed.

He would drink way too much coffee and go on the occasional bender when times got hard.

He would laugh and cry, and talk in his patented high strung, rapid fire way that left people reeling, wondering what the hell just happened once he’d walked away.

He would open his _fucking_ eyes, and it wouldn't be for the last time.

“Alright, listen up,” Daryl said, leaning his head forward against their joined hands and closing his eyes in concentration, speaking slowly and clearly, “This is for anyone still left on this planet. I don’t know if you’ll hear this, but my name is Daryl Dixon. I’m at 600 Chestlehurst Road, outside of Senoia, Georgia, and I want to make a deal. I have Castiel. He’s dying, and I can’t fix him myself. So, if there is anyone out there who still gives two shits about him, please, save him. And if there’s anyone else who doesn’t, I’m ready to offer you anything you want from me in exchange for his life. My soul, my body, whatever, I don’t care. You save him and you can have it. Just get here, and hurry.”

Daryl opened his eyes, bombarded at once with the harsh, floral pattern of the sheets beneath his elbows, and when he looked up, the room was still empty. Nothing changed, nothing new. Lori said when she prayed, she opened her eyes to find the knife and candy bar wrapper lying on the bed. There was nothing lying on the bed in front of Daryl, and no one new in the room with him, either.

Maybe different beings take longer to get here? Daryl mused, sitting back on his heels and trying not to panic, worried he might have done something wrong. Could you pray to demons? he wondered, remembering he once read something about a crossroads when he heard a loud crash, coming from the direction of the living room, followed by a scream. He jumped to his feet, grabbing Castiel’s blade from the nearby dresser before tearing through the door and down the hall.

He could hear Rick shouting angrily while Shane tried to calm him, and when he turned the corner into the living room, Daryl was struck dumb by what he saw:

Instead of a demon, or some kind of supernatural creature, there was a tall, well dressed blonde gentleman, ranting at no one in particular as he painted sigils on the wall with his own blood, scooped up on two fingers from a gash on his arm.

“A bunch of imbeciles is what you are!” He raved in a British accent, sweeping his blood across the wall in a large arc, connecting with a zig zag line and apparently finishing off that sigil, as he stalked across the room and immediately began painting another, “You broadcast an all access prayer across every station, and you don’t even bother to lock the place down? You all know Lucifer is an angel, right? He can hear everything you’re putting on the airwaves! Christ almighty, sometimes I wonder why my father likes you all so much.”

“You!” The stranger turned suddenly, pointing to Glenn and snapping his fingers, pulling a marker out of thin air and tossing it to him, “draw these symbols on the North and South walls of the house, on each floor.” He clapped his hands together, and Glenn hissed in pain, looking down at his forearms at the two sigils that were now painted on his skin.

“And you!” The man opened his palm to the sky, a jar of blood appearing from nowhere just like the marker had, before turning to T-Dog and tossing the bottle at him, which he barely caught before it hit the floor, “Paint these on every window!” The man clapped again, and T gasped as two sigils, different from the ones on Glenn’s arms, floated up to the surface of his skin.

Everyone in the room fell silent, even Rick, who had been loudly demanding to know who the _hell_ this guy was and where he came from, at the sight of the stranger’s magic show. He grumbled under his breath, something about “sodding morons,” before shouting, “Now! Don’t make me push you!” Glenn and T both jumped at his outburst, and turned in unison to Daryl, looking at him helplessly for confirmation. Daryl stuttered and shrugged, gesturing for them to do as the stranger said, and both Glenn and T hesitantly left the room, marker, blood and sigils on hand.

“Now, these should hide you from any wayward angels, but to be honest, they’re the least of your worries,” the stranger said, standing back and observing his handiwork with a keen eye, before nodding his approval, “It’s the Prince of Hell that’s bearing down on this farm that you need to worry about.”

“Prince of Hell?” Daryl asked, voice raw from crying, and he hurriedly scrubbed the tear tracks from his cheeks before anyone else turned to look at him, “I thought it was Lucifer?”

The strange man actually smiled at that, chuckling to himself like you might at a child when they’ve asked something stupid. “No, no. Lucifer gave the order, but he has a planet to conquer, he doesn’t have time to squash a single, upstart fallen angel,” he said as he hovered his hand over the gash in his arm, healing it, and Andrea whimpered across the room when his hand began to glow, “He’s sending Asmodeus, who used to be the crown prince of Baator, until he and his siblings turned their back on Lucifer to live on earth. Now that his dad is back in town though, he has a lot of ass kissing to do to get back into his good graces, and you better believe Asmodeus is going to bring every weapon, every soldier he has at his disposal, to collect Castiel.”

He gestured to the sigils on the walls, “These will keep him out for now, but they won’t last forever.”

“How long do we got?” Shane asked, stepping towards the strange man, entirely unafraid, “And who the hell are you?”

“Believe it or not, I’m your only way out of this mess!” the man snapped, walking over to the window and flinging the curtain back. He pointed out towards the blood red fields and turned back to Shane, “You see this nonsense? Notice that you haven’t seen a Croat in quite some time now? That you haven’t seen any birds, or bugs or other animals, either? How about the lack of wind, rain, stars or sunlight? Did you even think for a moment what this all meant?” He smiled sadly, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“Then where are we?” Daryl asked, stepping completely into the room and catching the strange man’s eye.

“You’re in Baator,” the man said, dropping the curtain and walking towards him, “Or more specifically, the second layer of Baator, Dis. Asmodeus scooped you up, you and this whole farm, and stuck you right in the middle of his Plane, enclosed in your own little pocket dimension. If you were to walk off in any direction, if you were to try to leave? You’d loop right back to the farm. He’s trapped you here… and he has no intention of letting any of you walk away with your lives.”

“So we're all stuck here? _Why?”_ Andrea cried from the couch, pallid and shaking in Carol's arms, clutching to her sweater like a frightened kid, “Why us? If Cas is who he wants, why did he take all of _us_?”

“Why would he let us go? Out of the goodness of his heart? He’s a _demon_ ,” Shane snapped, “and we’re all ammunition. A houseful of souls, ripe for the taking.”

“Your friend here is right,” the man said, drawing his thumb over his lower lip as he studied Shane intently, “and it also doesn’t help that you exorcised Mephistopheles. They may not have gotten along, but they’re still brothers, and when someone fucks with your family, you don’t let them off easy. Speaking of,” he turned to Daryl and asked, “where’s _my_ brother?”

That was all he had to say, just that one word, _brother_ , and suddenly it all clicked into place. The smart mouth, the laissez-faire attitude and the too-the-point personality… Daryl knew who this was. Castiel had told Daryl all about him, and on more than one occasion. “Balthazar,” he murmured, eyes wide with recognition, “you’re Balthazar.”

“Yes,” Balthazar said, rolling his eyes, “and you’re the idiot that called me here in the first place, to save Cassie from the brink of death, so I’ll ask again…” His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, blue light flaring in his eyes as the lamps overhead flickered and popped, casting the shadow of enormous wings on the far wall, “ _Where is my little brother?_ ”


	33. Into the Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This chapter is a big ol' flashback one, and follows through a lot of different scenes from Supernatural, so there is some following of the script, and a lot of divergence. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

“Oh Cassie,” Balthazar breathed, his hand hovering inches above Cas’ face, as if wanting to touch but too nervous to try, “what have you done to yourself?”

He’d been sitting at the edge of the bed since Daryl ushered him into the room, just sitting and staring down at Castiel like he could hardly recognize him. The only two expressions Daryl had seen flit across his face before Balthazar saw Castiel were anger and annoyance, but now he looked lost. He watched Castiel with the look of a man visiting a loved one’s grave, not their bedside. His expression was pinched, his forehead creased with worry and his lips pulled into a tight frown, and though Balthazar didn’t breathe, Daryl tracked each movement of his shoulders, rising and falling as his vessels muscles tensed and relaxed periodically.

If Daryl ever had any doubts as to Castiel’s humanity, they were completely and utterly quashed upon meeting Balthazar. Cas’ body may have started as a vessel, but he _breathed_ now, at least, and blinked every once in a while. Balthazar had no such qualms, and had been sitting, unblinking and unmoving for what felt like eons.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Can you help him?” Daryl asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and when he spoke his voice rasped in his throat, still raw from bawling his eyes out not that long ago.

Balthazar looked up sharply when Daryl spoke, eyes wide with surprise, like he’d forgotten Daryl was there. “Yes, I believe so,” he said, clearing his throat and taking his hand back, letting it fall uselessly into his lap, “It appears when he used his remaining grace to defend himself against Mephistopheles, he damn near depleted it. He’s managed to hold on to the tiniest shred, but with no connection to the host, it’s not able to sustain itself any longer, and its dying out.”

“Which means _he’s_ dying,” Daryl finished for him, and Balthazar hummed sadly.

“Unfortunately. But luckily for him, I’m still a full fledged, card carrying angel with an express connection to the holy powers,” Balthazar said, cracking his knuckles and looking down at Castiel, “I should be able to merge my grace with his, and bring him up to full power again. He still won’t be an angel, but he should survive.”

Daryl bit his lip, his fingers digging into his biceps, warring with himself on whether or not to ask the question that had been on his mind since they did it. He huffed, and when Balthazar looked over at him, his internal dilemma must have been obvious, written across his face as Balthazar sighed and said, “Out with it then.”

“What?” Daryl asked.

“Ask whatever it is you want so badly to ask,” he quipped, waving his hand to speed Daryl along, “I’ll be happy to answer whatever questions you have, so long as it’ll get that constipated look off of your face.”

Daryl shook his head and looked away, working up the nerve before he asked, “Was it really necessary to cut off his wings?”

Whatever smart ass remark Balthazar was cooking died on his tongue, and he instantly snapped his gaze back to Cas, his hand hovering just over top of Castiel’s back once more, gingerly touching something Daryl couldn’t see. “God help him,” Balthazar said, before cutting himself off with a mirthless laugh, “yes. He would have died otherwise. You did the right thing, as much as it pains me to say it. As much as it hurts me to see him like this.”

He sighed, a ghost of a smile curling at his lips. “Cassie’s wings were always too big for him, you know? Even when he was a child,” Balthazar said, dropping his hand back into his lap and looking fondly at Castiel, “He looked ridiculous, this small, gangly little thing with these huge black wings, damn near twice his size. It took him ages to learn to fly, and even longer to figure out long distance. They’d take every iota of grace in his body to just build momentum, and he’d wear out so fast, I never thought he’d be useful as a soldier. I never thought they’d let him leave Celestia.”

“But he grew into them,” Balthazar stood up suddenly, and went about unhooking Cas from his various machines despite Daryl’s protests, “and did I ever eat my words. Those large, strong wings that were so cumbersome when we were kids were now his greatest weapon. He was just so damn _fast_. Have you ever seen a peregrine falcon? The way they dive?”

Daryl nodded, reaching out to keep Balthazar from removing the ventilator, and sputtering in disbelief when the angel smacked his hands away.

“Then you know how fast they are, how precise? Castiel was the same. He was a _joy_ to watch,” He chuckled, smoothing Cas’ hair back from his forehead before rolling him over onto his back, taking out his IV less than gently, but at least having the good graces to look guilty, “Even Michael had to admit that Cassie surpassed his every expectation. He was the strangest little child, the runt of the litter, the one we all thought was a lost cause, and yet he ended up being the strongest, most effective soldier at Heavens disposal. There was only one tiny little problem—”

“No one could tell him what to do,” Daryl finished for him, snatching the ventilator mask from Balthazar’s hands, “Or they could, but he’d never listen. Not really, anyways. Also, I think he needs this—” he held up the mask, “to breathe.”

“He won’t need it, and I don’t want him to hurt himself when I bring him back to full health… he’s likely to move around a bit during the grace sharing process.” Balthazar explained, glancing at Daryl over his shoulder, sizing him up carefully, “You know Cassie well, then?”

“Very well,” Daryl said, coughing into his fist and looking away sheepishly, “I know how stubborn he is, anyways. And he’s told me plenty of times how badly he and Michael got along, which really comes as no surprise, seeing his problem with authority. That hasn’t gone away since he fell, neither. You should see how he digs in his heels whenever Rick gives him an order.”

Balthazar laughed out loud, tossing his head back, his eyes crinkling in glee. “Ah, he hasn’t changed a bit, has he?” he looked down at his brother lovingly, patting Castiel’s cheek, before laying his palm in the center of his chest, “That’s nice to know. He may never fly again, but at least he’ll always be good old, reliable Castiel.”

Daryl smiled despite himself, taking a seat in the chair next to Castiel’s bed, pleased to see that Cas wasn’t out and out dying without all of the wires and tubes attached to him. “He misses you a lot,” Daryl said, not at all surprised when Balthazar flinched and looked away guiltily, “He thought you were dead.”

“He told you about me?” Balthazar asked hesitantly.

“Oh yeah,” Daryl said with a small grin, “he’s told me _lots_ about you. More than anyone else.”

“All good things I hope?”

“Mostly. There was that one story about you sneaking into Ysgard. But most of his stories of you are about, more often than not, you sticking your neck out for him.”

Balthazar hummed, an expression flitting across his face that Daryl couldn’t quite place. “Why would he tell you all of this?” he asked, and Daryl flushed a deep red before he could look away. Balthazar’s brows shot up, and he smiled slowly, shaking his head in disbelief as he muttered, “You’re lovers.”

Stammering, Daryl shook his head, and Balthazar clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I swear, the worst thing that ever happened to you lot when you left the garden was developing this misplaced sense of shame,” he said, kicking Daryl sharply in the calf, “He’s not an angel anymore, and he’s not dead, not yet anyways. Who he decides to have sex with is none of my concern, and I am _hardly_ one to judge.”

Daryl’s cheeks felt like they had lit aflame. “Could we talk about _anything_ else?” he begged, unable to look Balthazar in the eye.

The angel sighed, but it wasn’t without a hint of amusement. “Fine,” he bemoaned, turning his attentions back to Castiel, unable to resist adding a sly, “he must really like you though, if he’s telling you all this. Cassie’s always been a very private person.”

With a grunt in reply, Daryl leaned forward on his knees, watching as Balthazar laid his hand flat against Cas’ chest. “If you save him,” he asked, “what then? If we’re on a different plane, then how do we get out?”

“Let me worry about that when the time comes,” Balthazar said, flattening his palm against Castiel’s breastbone, and taking a deep breath, “right now? We need to get Cas back into top shape. With the warding in place and your man Shane setting up a perimeter, we’ll know if anything, or anyone, approaches the house. The rest of your group is packing up the cars and getting ready to leave, so when it’s time, there better not be anyone dragging their feet.”

“How much time do you think we’ve got?” Daryl asked.

“As long as Cas is on deaths door?” Balthazar prodded along Cas’ chest, down to his diaphragm, furrowing his brow in concentration, “Asmodeus wouldn’t try anything. His goal is to end Castiel’s life, and he’s an old creature. Fond of plotting, planning and keeping his nose clean, with the accompanying hand wringing and the like. If Cassie expires on his own? Points to Asmodeus, he didn’t have to lift a finger, and all he’ll have to do is wipe this pocket dimension out to rid himself of all you.”

“But the moment Castiel gets better,” Daryl said, putting the pieces together, “then he’s a threat that needs to be exterminated.”

“Precisely,” said Balthazar, who closed his eyes as his fingers stilled just below Castiel’s diaphragm, “which is why the instant Cas recovers? You all need to get ready to run.” He inhaled sharply, his shoulders stiffening, “Now he may scream, a lot, so just keep calm.”

“Wait,” Daryl stammered, standing abruptly and toppling his chair, “you’re doing this _now?_ ”

“No time like the present,” Balthazar said, and Daryl shut his eyes against the sudden onslaught of blinding light, clapping his hands over his ears as Castiel’s scream damn near broke the sound barrier.

Daryl groaned, his eyes shut tight, and his fingers digging into the sides of his head as Cas wailed, the bed creaking as he thrashed. He was glad, as much as it pained him to admit it, that he couldn’t open his eyes, that he didn’t have to watch as Balthazar shared his grace, something which sounded as if he were pumping Cas with a thousand volts straight to his gullet. He didn’t know if he could take seeing Cas in any more pain.

Suddenly, Balthazar cursed, and the light went out.

“That it?” Daryl asked, hurrying to Castiel’s side in case he needed some assistance, “Did it work?”

But Balthazar didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up and stalked across the room, muttering under his breath, “Castiel, you stupid, self flagellating bastard!” He whirled around, his hands on his hips and stared at Daryl helplessly, “No, it didn’t work. He won’t let me help him!”

Fumbling for a moment, Daryl scoffed, “What do you mean he won’t _let_ you? Since when do you need permission to help someone?”

“Since I am an angel, and he is, for all intents and purposes, a _man_.” Balthazar walked over to the armchair by the window, flopping into heavily, “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. Normally, angels can share their grace without needing to ask, but somehow, I just—” he puffed out his cheeks, his frustration visibly mounting, looking flustered for the first time since he flapped his way into the house, “His grace isn’t his _grace_ anymore. It’s not form and substance, it doesn’t make up his body and it doesn’t fuel his engines. It’s been adapted to suit the meatsuit he’s trapped in, and somehow it’s morphed itself into a patchwork, taped up, mishmash little soul.”

“I fucking knew it,” Daryl breathed, brushing Castiel’s hair back from his forehead.

“Yes, well good for you, bad for Cas,” Balthazar snapped dropping his head in his hands, “I need him to agree, and if I can’t get him to let me in, I can’t help him, and he withers away and dies. He _knows_ I need permission, but he keeps blocking me out!”

“Why?” Daryl asked disbelievingly.

“Because he’s a contrition seeking, hair-shirt wearing, penitent piece of shit!” Throwing his arms out in front of him, Balthazar gestured wildly at Cas, at the state of him, “I don’t fucking know, he won’t even talk to me! He just keeps retreating further into his memories whenever I reach out to him.”

“Damn it Cas,” Daryl groaned, running a hand over his mouth, “So, how do we get around this?”

“There is no getting around it,” Balthazar said, “the rules have been set in stone since dad made the lot of you, and they’re very clear: no angel can force a human to do something against their will. We’re not demons, we need express permission to interact with or otherwise control a vessel. And I can’t just heal him from out here, because its not a physical ailment. Unless we can convince Castiel to let me in? I can’t help him. He dies.”

“So then we convince him,” Daryl decided, not missing a beat, “How do we talk to him? Can he hear me right now?”

Balthazar shook his head, “No. He’s deep in his subconscious, hiding away so I can’t reach him. The only way we could possibly get to him is to go in there and smoke him out, but like I said, _angel_ ,” pointed to himself and shrugged helplessly, “can’t get in without Cassie opening the door.”

“I get that,” Daryl said, turning to look Balthazar in the eye, “but I can, right? I’m human, I don’t need permission. If I can find him in there and convince him to let you in, you can save him, right?”

“Technically, yes,” Balthazar paused before asking, “But what makes you think he’ll agree? Do you think you could convince him when I could not?”

“Yes,” Daryl said, his voice firm, “I know I can. I know him, and though I may not know exactly what’s going through his head right now, I can guess that he’s probably tickin’ like a time bomb and I know how to defuse him. Find a way for me to get in there, and I can help you save him.”

“It could be dangerous,” Balthazar looked Daryl up and down, and said, “Divination always is. You could get stuck in there, the both of you, lost to time and space. You could overload Castiel’s poor, fragile little brain, and leave him a vegetable. You could get lost in his memories, or see things that humankind was never meant to see. Cassie may be human now, but he was a limitless, immortal being for billions of years… there’s no telling the kinds of things you may see.”

“I can handle it,” Daryl clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, locking eyes and standing toe to toe with Balthazar, “just tell me what to do.”

“Alright then,” Balthazar said with an appreciative hum, crossing his arms over his chest, “lets get you situated, shall we?”

* * *

 

“First things first,” Balthazar clapped his hands together, taking center stage in the living room, the rest of their tired, scattered group gathered around him, “we need to come up with a contingency plan, just in case Daryl actually _succeeds_ in saving Cas.”

Shane huffed from his seat on the couch, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him, the perfect picture of lazy defiance. “If he succeeds?” he drawled, giving Balthazar a once over, “You clearly don’t know what this man is willing to put himself through to help your brother. He’ll save him, so why don’t you tell us what we need to do, and I’ll get us doing it.”

Daryl balked a little, having to compose himself in the face of Shane’s oddly placed confidence. They had never been friends. As a matter of fact, Daryl had almost shot him (having spent the last month trying to figure out what his problem was, and subsequently how to get rid of the demon that had been haunting him), and was still having a hard time reconciling that Shane was good now. Back to normal, for better or worse. But Shane seemed to have done a complete one eighty where Daryl and Cas were concerned, jumping to defend and protect them at all costs, and it was nothing if not disconcerting.

Still, Daryl couldn’t help but be thankful for his assistance in that moment, as the rest of the group was falling to pieces.

Lori was indisposed with Carl, and keeping him far away from the celestial being in the den, so she was of no help. Andrea had gone damn near catatonic, and Carol was busy tending to her. Glenn and Maggie were there, but they were worse than useless, exhausted and running on less than an hour of sleep combined, while Hershel had promptly gone to bed after Balthazar’s arrival and passed out. He’d been sleeping ever since.

T-Dog, Shane and Rick (of all people) were the three most level-headed people Daryl had left, and he’d been relying on them heavily ever since they brought Cas back from the barn. T had been more than happy to look in on Cas after Hershel’s departure, and Rick had been steadfastly keeping the group together, but Shane? Shane had gone above and beyond the call of duty, sealing the house with every warding he could find, setting up a perimeter around the house and giving the rest of them chores to keep their minds occupied. He’d been nothing short of a hero during this whole debacle, and Daryl was incredibly grateful.

But now, standing up for him in front of Balthazar, Daryl had to wonder at his motives. He hated to do it, and after all Shane had done for him in that night alone, he wished he didn’t have to, but there was just something off about him. Sure, he hadn’t known Shane before Mephistopheles began influencing him, but he knew from Lori and Rick that he was a closed off hothead, who would rather eat his own arm than his mistakes. He wasn’t one to get all gooey and emotional, averse to chick-flick moments in the same way Merle was, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that by the way he’d been talking that night. And considering all that had happened to him, Daryl had to worry if Shane was really all there.

Which was why, when Balthazar looked down at Shane and said, “Daryl’s going to need someone to accompany him,” and Shane volunteered without hesitation, Daryl’s knee jerk response was a startled, “No!”

Both Balthazar and Shane looked up at him in shock.

“I mean, why do I need someone to come with me at all?” Daryl stammered, trying to explain away the look of suspicion that suddenly crossed Shane’s face, “Can’t I do this myself?”

“You can, but no one in the history of the _planet_ would recommend it,” Balthazar said, “You’re delving into someone’s consciousness, and there’s no telling what you will find there. The human mind doesn’t like being toyed with, and whether Cassie means to or not, he will fight like hell to keep you out. He will attempt to evade you, to trap you in some useless facet of his memories, and if you lose your way? You may never find your way out. There needs to be two of you, so that when one gets distracted, the other can reign you back in.”

“What if they both get distracted?” Maggie asked.

“Then we’ll have a dead fallen angel on our hands, as well as two human vegetables,” Balthazar quipped, shrugging his shoulders at her horrified expression, “So we better choose someone appropriate for the job. Daryl here, as I’ve come to understand, has been ignoring the supernatural his whole life, so he’s already got a leg up on the lot of you. We just need someone with the mental fortitude to assist him.”

“I can’t,” Glenn said, shaking his head, “I’m sorry Daryl, but I’m exhausted, I just can’t—”

“I know,” Daryl said, holding up a hand and stopping him in his tracks, “It’s fine, you and Maggie have done more than enough.”

“Tell me again why _I_ can’t do it?” Shane asked snidely.

“You were just possessed by a demon, after being tormented by it for God knows how long,” Daryl explained, “and you just lived through an exorcism, which ain't a very likely fate neither. I’m sorry Shane, I know you want to help, but I think on this end, you’re tapped out.” Shane looked like he was going to dig in his heels, fingers tightening around his arms as he sat forward, and Daryl sighed as he said, “I need you here, man. Balthazar is gonna need help gettin' us out of here and back to the material plane. Saving Cas is only half the battle.”

Balthazar frowned, squinting at Daryl in an expression so reminiscent of Castiel it made his heart clench at the resemblance, before catching on with a silent, “Aha.” He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I will need all the help I can get. Once Castiel is safe, Asmodeus will begin to collapse this dimension, and if that happens, then even I won’t be able to save you. But,” he added, catching wind of the air of distress that swept through the room, and seeking to assuage it, “I _can_ tear a hole through the dimensional walls keeping you here in Baator, and that will allow you to get out. I will only be able to keep it open momentarily, but if all of you are in your vehicles, cars packed and ready to leave by the time it opens, you will be able to make it.”

“What’ll happen to the farm?” Maggie asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“It will be gone, clearly,” Balthazar said straightforwardly, raising a brow, “There will be nothing left but hole in the ground where this house once stood. That’s why you need to get out before Asmodeus erases it from existence.”

“Okay,” Shane said, biting his lip and looking down at the floor with intense concentration, “So I’ll organize everyone, get everything packed away and ready to go.”

“Perfect,” Balthazar nodded, “now back to the matter at hand: who is going to be delving into my baby brothers brain with Daryl, here?”

The room fell completely and utterly silent.

Glenn was staring down at the floor, dejected as he held Maggie to his side, who had started to cry silently at the mention of her childhood home being completely and utterly decimated. T-Dog, for the first time that night, was not offering his services, and instead had gone terribly pale, shaking his head sadly at Daryl when he caught hit eye. Carol, Andrea and Lori were out. Patricia, Jimmy and Beth as well. Hershel was sleeping like a stone, and they’d ruled Shane out as an option, so that only left…

“I’ll do it,” Rick said, standing up from the couch, “I’ll help Daryl.”

“Rick,” Daryl shook his head. “You don’t have to do this,” is what he said, when what he meant was “I don’t trust you to do this.” And Rick knew it, he had to. This was a man who had told Daryl not even a full twenty-four hours ago, that he would rather let his lover die than try to save his life. That he was willing to abandon the (presumed) safety of the farm to just get away from Castiel. How in the hell was Daryl then expected to waltz into Castiel’s subconscious with him, putting his trust and Cas’ safety in the man who wished him dead, just because he changed his mind? Because he said sorry?

“I’m your only option, Daryl,” Rick said, addressing what Daryl was thinking without drawing attention to it, “and I promise you, I am going to do everything I can to help Cas. I’m not going to hurt him, or you.”

“Well,” Balthazar interjected, clapping his hands down on Daryl and Rick’s shoulders, “times a wasting, so if we’re going to do this, we have to do this now. We did kind of leave Cassie all alone, without any medical supervision, and he is still hanging on by a thread, so…”

With an impatient wave of his hands, Shane was already on his feet, barking orders like he was made to do it, and Balthazar hurried Daryl and Rick into the bedroom once more.

Castiel was still on his back, the agony he’d endured as Balthazar attempted to share his grace having had no permanent effect it seemed, and Daryl was glad to see _someone_ had hooked him back up to his IV and ventilator while they were in the living room talking. “So,” Rick said, walking into the room, “what are we getting into? What can we expect?”

“Cassie is hiding in his subconscious,” Balthazar explained, setting up the armchair next to the bed and motioning for Rick to take a seat, “and that means, he’s buried somewhere in his memories. There’s no immediate way of knowing where he is, but he will leave a trail. Look for it, follow it, and you will find Cas.”

“A trail like footprints?” Rick asked, waving his hand in an effort to get Balthazar to stop being so frustratingly cryptic, “Or something else?”

“More like… things that don’t belong,” Balthazar said, pointing to the bed beside Cas as he shot Daryl a look, and Daryl promptly sat down, “Look around, watch the memory as it unfolds and keep an eye out for people who shouldn’t be there, or things that don’t fit. That will be the clue that moves you on to the next. Also,” he paused, biting his lip, “you have to keep in mind they are just memories. They’re things that have happened to Castiel in the past.”

“There’s no telling what Cas is reliving, and there’s no way to know what you might see beforehand,” he took a seat at the foot of the bed as he spoke, his expression stern for once, making sure to look both Rick and Daryl in the eye respectively to make sure they understood, “Some of it might be hard to watch. Some memories might be kind, others… Cas has had a long life, you see. He’s had a lot of good, and a lot of bad. But you cannot change any of it, though you may want to. And if you intercede, you’ll only make him more aware of your presence. You have to leave things where you’ve found them. You cannot try to alter or interact with the memories that you witness.”

Daryl and Rick both nodded solemnly, looking at each other before turning back to Balthazar. “We’re ready,” Daryl said, and Balthazar nodded, motioning for each of them to take one of Cas’ hands and one of his.

The last thing Daryl saw was a blinding flash of light, and he lost consciousness to the sound of Rick screaming. 

* * *

 

Daryl woke up with a start, gasping for breath.

There was light in his eyes, bright and warm like the sun, not blindingly cold like the light of Balthazar’s grace, and he blinked blearily, raising his hand to shield him. He was buffeted with a warm breeze, and his fingers twisted in soft grass as he pushed himself up and onto his feet. He heard Rick groan next to him, and as he lowered he his hand to help the other man to his feet, Daryl got his first real glimpse of the world around him.

“Holy fuck,” Rick muttered as he stood on shaky feet, and Daryl couldn’t have put it better himself.

On top of a grassy hill, right at the edge of a tall, rocky cliff, they found themselves over looking a beautiful, violet glade. The grass was a light purple (like something out of a Dr. Seuss picture book), tall enough to graze Daryl’s hips but soft as a feather, swaying in the gentle breeze that rolled through the valley. Everything was pale: the lavender grass, the murky brown of the cliff, the green sky and the warm, yellow suns (of which there were three; Daryl counted twice). It was as if the world they stood in was cast in a pastel hue, and below them elk like creatures were grazing near a riverbank, their antlers pointing skyward and their thin, white feathered wings folded securely against their sides.

“Where are we?” Rick asked, stepping closer to the edge of the cliff, “We’re in Cas’ memories, but where is this place? It’s certainly not earth.”

“No, it’s not,” Daryl agreed, looking down at the strange, winged beasts in the glade, “It’s got three suns, and look,” he pointed up to the sky, “You can see another planet, really close to here.”

“Jesus,” Rick breathed, puffing out his cheeks with a shake of his head, “Talk about something you have to see to believe. To think I was freaked out by the mere mention of demons this morning… and yet, here I am, somewhere entirely outside of my realm of perception, without batting an eye.”

“You’d be amazed what the human mind can deal with, when it doesn’t have any other option,” Daryl said, parroting something Cas had told him a long time ago. Speaking of, “I don’t think Cas is here,” he said, beginning to walk away into the forest behind them and down the gently declining hill, “and we need to hurry. We don’t know how much time he has left—”

Rick cut him off gasp, and when Daryl turned to face him, he was pointing off to the side, further down the edge of the cliff he was standing on. Daryl frowned and followed his gaze, inhaling sharply when he saw what Rick had been so struck by.

There was no doubt in his mind that the small creature sitting on the cliffs edge, silently crying and dwarfed by comically large, pitch black wings, was Castiel. And when Rick asked him how he could be sure, Daryl had to assure him he just was, because nothing about the small being in front of them looked at all like the Cas they knew.

He was small, a skinny little thing and clearly a child, his tiny hands and feet still rounded with youth. His chubby cheeks were streaked with tears and he was biting his lower lip, trying to hold back the hiccupping sobs that threatened to spill forth in a way that made Daryl’s heart clench painfully.

The abstract similarities to his Castiel were visible in his terse expression, in the furrow of his brow, but that’s where they ended. This creature was pale and glowed a muted, golden hue. He seemed to glimmer from the inside out, light shifting and twisting underneath his smooth, almost porcelain looking skin. He was dressed in strange robes, the fabric texture and colour undefinable, constantly in flux, and Daryl found it hurt his eyes to stare at it for too long. His body was mostly humanoid, with a head full of wild, dark hair that curled tightly around his ears and across his temples, a human torso, hands and arms, but his lower body…

From the knee down, his legs morphed into those of a falcon, his long-toed claws digging into the rocky face of the cliff as he curled them underneath himself. They were scaled, dark black-blue and shining brilliantly in the pale suns light.

His face was roughly humanoid and with his small nose, thin lips and rounded cheeks, he was almost cute, the only discernable difference from a normal human child being his eyes. He had no lashes, no lids, no eyebrows. Instead, his eyes were shaped like a cat’s, no eyeball and no physical form to speak of. Just an empty socket, with a roiling, sparking ball of bright blue flame stemming from the center outward. The flame that composed Cas’ eyes curled and looped around itself, keeping contained to the socket and filling all of the available space, like liquid in a glass and as he watched them, Daryl realized with a start that the tears he had seen rolling down this Castiel’s cheeks weren’t tears at all. They were wayward tendrils of flame, licking down across his skin before rolling back up to his eyes, retreating until another sob burst from his lips.

Rick was in shock, and Daryl didn’t blame him. He stood silent, observing, but he felt panic welling inside of him, fit to burst. It had never been more clear to him than in that moment that Castiel was not a man at all. He was this otherworldly thing, this creature that even as a child burned with the heavenly light of God, his oversized wings already powerful beyond mortal reckoning. This Castiel could smite Daryl without a second’s glance if he saw fit, and maybe he would if he had to. He hadn’t lived through the apocalypse, through Dean and the Winchesters, and everything else that had made him human. At this point in his life, Cas was completely angelic, the untarnished child and son of God.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, giving Rick a half-hearted, comforting pat on the shoulder with a shaking hand.

Suddenly, a dark shadow passed over top of them, and all three of them on the cliff looked up just in time to see a large creature, much like Castiel but fully grown, circle them before diving towards to the ground. He landed on his feet, the grass bowing away from him as his powerful wings beat rhythmically, lowering himself onto his large, clawed feet, which dug into the dirt below. This creature was different, Daryl realized almost immediately, his eyes drawn to the two sets of brilliant white wings and the roiling, burning wreath of fire hovering just behind his head. His skin was a pale green, the grace flowing underneath his flesh a shimmering blue. He was wrapped in the same odd, parabolic linen, but overtop he wore a set of glorious, white armor, shining radiantly in the suns. He held himself regally, his chest puffed out and head held high, and when he looked down at Cas, the fire raging in his eyes flared dangerously.

“Michael,” Daryl muttered under his breath, recognizing him despite never knowing him, the angel’s stature and likeness connecting the dots within every story Cas ever told him about the archangel.

He was a commanding, dominating presence, even as he crouched down next to Castiel. He dwarfed the small angel, a single one of his hands the size of Castiel’s whole head, and Daryl frowned, watching Cas stiffen as the archangel settled in next to him.

“Do you know why I had to do what I did, Castiel?” Michael asked, his voice reverberating, harmonising with itself and even though he spoke softly, his voice carried, clear as day to Rick and Daryl as they stood stunned further along the cliff.

Cas shook his head, looking down at the glade and refusing to meet Michael’s gaze.

“I know you’re not senseless,” Michael admonished, grabbing Cas’ chin none too gently and forcibly turning his head to look at him, “You know why I made that call. Why I _had_ to.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything,” Cas snapped, swatting Michael’s hand away and immediately regretting it, backing up slightly in fear of retaliation. But Michael held his ire, clenching his jaw to keep from interrupting, and this seemed to bolster Castiel, who said, “You’re first in command, you’re our leader! You could have chosen not to.”

“I could not,” Michael said softly, his voice steady and calm, “I am not without my limits, and I must comply with our fathers wishes. If he commands that the firstborn of Egypt be slain, then I must adhere to it. There is no choice, Castiel.  We were made to serve him.”

“ _’We were made to serve him_ ,’” Cas parroted, before scoffing and throwing his hands up helplessly, “but then he _told_ us to serve _them_! So why must we murder them, and make them suffer, when we were told to _love_ them above all else?”

“Because that is how it was written,” Michael said, still infuriatingly calm, “and that is how it shall be. Our father may be gone, but the instructions he left behind are clear.”

“But they were innocent,” Cas said.

“Not all,” Michael replied.

“What of the infants, and the animals?” Cas asked, shaking his head, his wings flexing and though his back was turned to Daryl he could almost see exasperated expression on Castiel’s face, in his minds eye, “We slaughtered the son of the Pharaoh in the same breath as the son of a slave. How is that righteous? How can you say that is God’s good work?”

“It is what God commanded,” Michael bit out, starting to lose his cool as he stood, looking down at Castiel warningly, his burning blue eyes narrowed, “It is what he wanted. And in his absence, I must uphold his wishes. The Egyptians incurred his wrath, and this is how they suffer for their treatment of his chosen people.”

“But it isn’t fair!” Castiel wailed, pounding both of his fists into the ground in childlike frustration, and Rick whined under his breath, betraying his empathy even as he attempted to keep his expression schooled and emotionless, “’The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son.’”

“Castiel,” Michael tried to interject, his voice clipped and countenance dire, but Cas cut him off.

“’The righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him—‘”

“Castiel, _stop,”_ Michael said, his anger rising along with his shoulders, posture stiff and fists curled tight at his sides. Daryl made a helpless noise, attempting to take a step forward when Rick grabbed him by the wrist, shaking his head sharply in warning. He couldn’t interfere, Daryl knew that. But he also knew where this was going, how it was going to end, and as Cas interrupted Michael again, Daryl winced and looked away.

“’And the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon _him_ —‘”

“Enough!” Michael bellowed, and Daryl grit his teeth as he heard the back of Michael's hand connect with Castiel’s cheek. Cas fell back, hitting the ground with an ungainly thump and when Daryl dared to look at them again, Cas was still down in the grass, clutching his cheek and looking up at Michael, terrified.

“Don’t you dare use _their_ words to discount the word of God!” Michael shouted, looming over Cas’s tiny body, his small clawed feet scrabbling in the dirt as he tried to back away from the archangel in terror, “You want to debate scripture? Well then, ‘the Lord says: ‘ _About midnight I will go throughout Egypt. Every firstborn son in Egypt will die, and there will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again_.’” He huffed and stood down, looking at Castiel pityingly, “Why are you so willing to obey to the humans, and their wishes, against the will of your own Father? Why must you _fight_ me at every turn?”

Cas hiccuped, flames rolling down his cheeks and Michael sighed, crouching down in front of him, all of his righteous, holy fury dwindling at the sight of this pitiful, petrified child. “I don’t want to _hurt_ you, brother,” he said, reaching out and cupping Cas’ cheek, “I don’t want to have to punish you, but this… this fondness you have for the humans? It borders on obsession. And I could afford to entertain you, when it didn’t counteract our duty to our father, but _this_?” He sighed, almost human worry etched across his face, “This is unacceptable, and I can no longer allow you to be swallowed in this childish fancy. The things you are saying, the thoughts you are espousing are _doubt_ , and though you may be too young remember, I _have_ heard all of this before. From Lucifer. Do you understand how _dangerous_ that is?”

“I don’t— I’m not…” Castiel stammered, paling.

“I know,” Michael said, pulling Cas against his chest, who went easily, crumpling against his brother’s breastplate, his small hands balled up against the pale metal surface, “I know you want to be good. You want to be a good son, a good soldier… but you can’t keep putting the humans above the will of Heaven, and you can’t keep fighting me. I don’t like punishing you, but every time you speak in their defense, and every time you openly defy me, you put my position and my authority at risk. You force my hand; don’t you see that?”

“But he…” Cas sobbed, hiccuping as he squished his cheek into Michael’s chest, “I can’t forget it! I close my eyes and try to block it out, but all I can hear are their _screams_ , Michael! They prayed to us when they found their children slaughtered in their beds, and I just keep _hearing it_!”

Michael shushed him and held him close, his hands dwarfing Cas’ small shoulders. He held him tightly, waiting patiently and looking out over the glade until Cas finally calmed down. He was still stifling sobs, still gasping, but quietly and when Cas’ shoulders stopped shaking under Michael grasp, the archangel pulled away and asked, “Do you want to know how to love them, and still be good?” Cas nodded, and Michael answered, “You love them at a distance. Don’t get too attached… in that affection lies your downfall.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cas cried, his lower lip trembling, “I won’t do it again.”

Rick cursed, and Daryl looked over at him, more than happy to tear his gaze from the scene in front of him as Michael flew off with a cowed Castiel in tow. And as furious as Daryl felt, it was nothing compared to the look of livid condemnation in Rick’s eyes. “He’s a child,” Rick spat, staring angrily at the spot where the two angels once stood, “He couldn’t have been older than Carl, relatively speaking, and that—that asshole—”

“Michael,” Daryl supplied.

“ _Michael.”_ Rick spat the word back, grimacing as if it were a bad taste on his tongue, “He just manipulated him. How could something that is supposed to be the embodiment of _good_ talk to a child like that? He was frightened, traumatized, how could he—” he cut himself off, overwhelmed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he ran his hands through his hair and asked helplessly, “I thought they were supposed to be the good guys?”

“They’re soldiers,” Daryl said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, keeping his voice level and calm if only to belie the thrumming of vicious anger in his veins, pounding to match Rick’s, “Mission oriented dicks. They only care about the big picture—everything else is relative.”

“But Cas is—” Rick corrected himself, “ _was_ , one of them. Don’t they care at all for each other?”

“I don’t think angels feel emotions in the same way we do,” said Daryl, frowning as he walked over to a nearby tree. The pattern of its bark had caught his eye, one section running vertically while the rest ran horizontally. “They feel things, but Cas’ told me that emotions are logical to them. Their feelings are more of a rational understanding.”

“Cas though,” Rick muttered, looking over his shoulder at Daryl, who was curiously prodding at the rugged bark with his fingertips, “he’s not like them. He’s…”

“Not an emotionless windbag?” Daryl said, digging his fingers into an odd seam in the bark, “Yeah, he was a terrible angel, and he always had been. He’ll tell you that himself, he was just made wrong.” His fingers curled around the edge of the seam, Daryl pulled outwards, smiling triumphantly when the panel in the tree clicked open and swung open, revealing a door on the other side. It was thin, a single piece of wood with a brass handle, and it was barely wide enough to fit, but if he crouched down and went in sideways, Daryl was certain he could make it through. “I think I found our exit,” he said, gesturing to the door, “lets go.”

Rick wasn’t paying attention, however. He was standing in the same place he was when Michael had flown in, perched on the edge of the cliff and overlooking the glade. “Rick,” Daryl called gently, his hand resting on the old, lacquered knob of the door, “c’mon, man. We gotta move.”

“I thought they’d be different,” Rick said, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he took one more longing look across the clearing.

Daryl sighed, “I know. Me too.”

They stepped through the door, one after the other, without another word. 

* * *

 

They found Castiel immediately in this memory, the instant they moved through the door.

They were standing on a beach, under the same three suns as before, in what Daryl could only assume was the same plane. The colours were similar, pastel hues and pale refractions of purples and blues across the calm waves of the ocean in front of them. The sand beneath their feet was rocky, pebbles and shells scattered through it, and it crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they walked towards Castiel, who was bathing in the shallow water.

This Castiel was no longer a child. He was nowhere near as large as Michael had been, but he was fully grown, his limbs no longer gangly and awkward, though his wings were still a touch too big for his body. He looked stronger, more capable, tightly corded muscle wrapped underneath his golden skin, and as he sat half naked, half submerged in the shallow water, he combed his fingers through his large, black feathered wings, the thick, powerful limbs flexing under his touch. Gone was the incapable, crying child of the last memory they were in, and in his place, there was this new Cas: a powerful, awe inspiring being of angelic might.

There was only one feature this Cas had in common with the child they had just seen. As Daryl walked into the waves, his shoes squelching and his jeans weighing down at the cuffs as they soaked in the water, rounding Castiel so he could look into his face, he saw it.

Cas was terrified.

Absently stroking his fingers through his feathers, Cas was staring down at the water, watching the light glimmer off its surface, but seeing nothing. He was lost in thought, biting his lip pensively when yet another angel swooped in behind him, calling Cas’ name and startling him into standing when it touched down into the water.

“Daryl!” Rick called to him, waving him closer to the shore and Daryl complied, wading back towards the beach. He gave the new angel a wide berth, taking in his short stature, reaching only Castiel’s shoulders now that he stood at full height. His wings were slimmer, a tawny, golden brown and his face the most expressive Daryl had seen on an angel yet. Daryl stopped when he reached Rick’s side, silently watching as Cas half turned to face this new angel.

“Balthazar,” Castiel said, seemingly surprised to find him there, “how did you know where I was?”

Balthazar smiled tightly, exasperated but affectionate as he said, “Ever since you were a child, you’ve only ever hidden in one of two places. I will admit, I first went to Ysgard, but quickly realized the halls of Wōden are not a place where one prepares for battle. The shores of Elysium, however…”

“Well then, why have you come?” Cas asked, his wings bristling like the tail of a cat, “To dissuade me, I presume?”

“Of course I’ve come to dissuade you,” Balthazar scoffed, shaking his head incredulously, “I’ve come to beg you, brother, do not do this!”

“I can’t defy Michael,” Castiel said, his clawed feet sloshing in the water as he walked past Balthazar, back towards the beach, “This is a direct order, if I disobey I will be arrested for treason. I must go.”

“If you go, you will die,” Balthazar grabbed his arm as he passed, forcing Cas to face him.

“Not necessarily,” he replied, wrenching his arm back from his brother’s firm grip.

“Yes, you will,” Balthazar said, looking lost, his hand grasping for Castiel almost without him noticing, reaching out as Cas backed up further onto the beach, clearly trying to avoid this confrontation, “This is a fool’s errand Castiel!” He shouted at Cas’ retreating back, his stance wide as he stood in the shallow water, waves lapping at his feet, “You are cannon fodder, and Michael is sending you into Hell to die. He does not expect you to come back, in fact, he is expecting you to fall down there in the Pit. You will suffer eternally, and you will never return. No angel has ever made it back from Cania, and no angel ever will. You are not the exception.”

That seemed to strike a nerve, and when Castiel whirled around, his wings skirted the surface of the water, kicking up droplets and smattering them across the beach. “Michael needs the soul of Dean Winchester,” Cas argued, “He needs his chosen vessel, he would not send us down into the Pit if he did not believe we were capable!”

“Do you truly believe that, or are you just telling yourself that to make you feel better about throwing your life away!? Open your eyes!” Balthazar shouted, slamming his fists down at his sides, “He is guaranteed to get his soul, because he is sending twice the number of soldiers he has ever designated to a single mission, ever before! And all of you, every last one who is being sent to Baator? You are all expendable. You are either useless as soldiers, or troublemakers.” He pointed a finger at Cas, “You yourself have been a thorn in Michael’s side since the day you were created… do you honestly think he would pick you for a mission so integral, so important, if he thought that you were capable of completing it? You are a wildcard, Cas. Michael would never send you if he believed for a moment you would be the one to save Dean’s soul.”

“Then who is he expecting to do it?” Castiel asked, unconvinced, “If we are all expendable, as you say, who will be the one to rescue the vessel from Alistair’s clutches?”

“Did you not notice Zachariah was assigned command? Or that Uriel was appointed as his Lieutenant?” The look on Cas’ face as Balthazar spoke told Daryl he didn’t, as he clenched his jaw and looked scathingly down at the water, “You are only there to clear a path, so Zachariah can swoop in and save the day. You are going to _die_ Cassie, don’t you see?”

The second that familiar, well-loved pet name tumbled from Balthazar’s lips, both angels froze. The water lapped at their feet, sloshing around their scaled calves and Castiel made a sound halfway between a laugh and a frustrated sigh. “I hate it when you call me that,” he said softly.

“I know,” Balthazar said with a smile, “it’s why I do it. What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t tease you? Even here, at the end of all things.”

“That’s right, Balthazar,” Castiel murmured, tenting his fingers together, watching them thoughtfully.

“What is?”

“You are my older brother. You’ve been with me since the beginning, since my very first thought,” Cas stepped forward, and his wings preceded him, curving inwards and brushing against Balthazar’s own. They reached out to him as Cas did, taking Balthazar’s hands in his as he said, “You helped me learn to fly, you taught me to fight and you took care of me when I couldn’t do so myself. Amongst legions of our siblings, so many of them faceless and nameless to me, you were _always_ there. I could always count on you, and I trust you with my life.”

“So trust me _now_ ,” Balthazar begged, “please.”

“I can’t,” Cas said, “Not this time.”

With a choked noise, Balthazar crumpled forwards, his wings slouching as he asked, “But _why_?”

“Because this time I need you to trust _me_ ,” Cas said, holding tight to Balthazar’s hands, “All my life, brother I have looked to you for guidance, and I cannot overstate how much I appreciate and love everything you have done for me. You taught me that I wasn’t a freak, and that even though I was different, there was nothing wrong with me. You taught me to hide, as best I could, and how to get by. But this time, I _know_ you are mistaken. “

“Cassie, come on!” Balthazar said, tearing his hands from Castiel’s grip, “Michael is—”

“Looking to get rid of me, yes,” Castiel huffed, waving a hand and brushing off Balthazar’s main point of contention, “That I know is true. I’m not blind, Balthazar! I’m not stupid. You are right about that, but you are wrong in assuming I will fall.” He stepped forward as Balthazar backed away, crowding into him, desperate to make his point, “I’m strong. I’m faster, tougher, better than all of the rest of them, and I _know_ Michael is sending me to my death, but I also know _him.”_

“He has always underestimated me, and he has time and again proven that he will let his perception of my character cloud his judgement. He is expecting me to fall, but when I succeed?” A sly grin stretched across Cas’ face, “When I cut down every demon that gets in my way, and I beat every other angel to the finish line? When I cradle Dean Winchester’s soul in my hands and claim him as _my_ charge? Michael will have to eat his words, once and for all. It will be the _end._ The last time he ever underestimates me, discards and looks down on me. I will prove myself to everyone, and I will finally carve from them the freedom to be who I am. No more cowering, no more subjugation and recompense, I will be _free!_ ”

“You’re an angel,” Balthazar spoke slowly, staring stunned at Castiel, as if he’d missed the most important point in his tirade, “You’ll never be free.”

“Have faith, brother,” Cas pleaded.

But Balthazar could not, it seemed. He gaped silently, the breeze that swept lazily around them ruffling his feathers, and Daryl could track every minute expression on his foreign face. He saw Balthazar cycle through shock, to anger and confusion, before finally landing on heartbreak. “My God,” he whispered, “I’ve heard these words before.”

“What?” Cas tilted his head to the side.  

“I’ve heard this rant already,” Balthazar repeated, surer than before as he pointed an accusing finger at Castiel, “The things you are saying… do you even hear yourself? Do you not know who you sound like?!”

Realization dawned across Castiel’s face, and he said warningly, “Don’t.”

“You sound like the him, Castiel!” Balthazar cried, backing up into the water, “You sound like the Morningstar!!”

“No!” Cas shook his head vehemently, “No, you don’t understand—”

“No, _you_ don’t understand!” Balthazar interrupted, slapping his fists down against the surface of the water, “You aren’t talking about personal freedom. You are talking about upending the status quo, about tearing up the script and burning the pages for all of us! You’re talking about going against the will of God!!”

Cas visibly paled, his claws crunching in the sand as the waves receded, but he admirably held his ground and asked, “So what? It’s the only way to stop Michael, it’s the only way to ensure he and Lucifer never meet on the chosen—”

Balthazar snorted, dropping his head into his hands as he laughed disbelievingly. “You’re too young to remember,” he muttered into his palms, “but I’m not. I remember Lucifer, I remember the Fall and I remember when Dad left.” When he looked up again, this eyes were wide open, the flames spilling forth from their empty sockets, flaring and licking down his cheeks as he cried, “I have seen what happens to the prideful when they take on the throne of God, and it is not pretty! You are going to crash and burn. You are going to _fall bloody_!!”

“What else would you have me do?” Castiel asked, stepping forward and wincing when Balthazar backed away, “As I see it, there are very few options left for me. I can defy Michael, and spend the rest of eternity locked away with the likes of Gadreel and Abner. I can go to Hell as Michael commanded and die in battle, as he wishes. Or—”

“Cassie—”

“Or! I can defy his every expectation and fight. I can fight for humanity, for their right to exist the way that they have chosen! Saving Dean Winchester is the only way I can help them!”

“But that’s not what you want, is it? That’s not what you’re asking for. You are asking for _your own_ freedom, for free will, and that is not something you can ever hope to attain!” Balthazar sighed, his shoulders and wings slumping, “You aren’t human, little brother. You are an angel, and you will always _be_ an angel. Even if you fall, and I certainly hope it never comes to that, you will always be one of us. Born to serve. Programmed to obey. And wayward, broken angels who disobey their coding? They are banished. Cut off from the Host to suffer in silence and solitude. That, or they die.”

“Fuck,” Rick muttered, hand cupped over his mouth as he watched in abstract fascination. Daryl nodded, gritting his teeth as he watched Cas crumple with every word that left Balthazar’s mouth. All of his certainty left him, his confidence fading and sooner than later, he looked just like that small child he used to be, browbeaten by an older brother for something he just couldn’t convey.

“You will never have the freedom of humanity, and I am so sorry.” Balthazar said, stepping out of the water and joining Castiel, placing both hands gently onto Cas’ shoulders as he caught his eye, “I know you… I know it is all you ever wanted. To be like them, to have what they have, but its not possible. You can’t. You’re one piece of a whole… not an individual. You will never be anything but a name in a roster.”

“Then tell me,” Cas begged, his voice cracking, “Tell me what else to do, because I don’t know!! I don’t…”

“Come with _me_ ,” Balthazar said.

“What?” Cas frowned, “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere else,” he answered simply, “Anywhere else, anywhere but _here_. The whole thing is falling to pieces, and Michael is going to drive this ship into the ground. We could leave. Go to Ysgard, or Bytopia, or somewhere in the Far Realm. Past the Outer Planes.” Cas shook his head and muttered a quiet dissent, but Balthazar wouldn’t hear it. He kept on talking, his fingers gripping Cas’ shoulders even tighter, digging into his pale, gold flesh, “We could take vessels, hide away on earth and spend the rest of its short little life in peace, just the two of us. We could live in the Feywild, with Oberon or in Shadowfell, where there is no right or wrong. There are thousands of planes, thousands of other planets, and there is no reason for you to fall _or_ die.”

“Your suggestion then is to run?” Cas asked, looking down at the beach, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes. While we still can.”

“No.”

“But _why?”_ Balthazar demanded, his hands falling away and hanging limply at this sides.

“Because I am not a coward,” Cas spat viciously, and Balthazar winced at his accusation, “I will not run and hide as the world burns, as humanity breathes its last in a war that was _never about them_! I will not let Michael or Lucifer run free, or hold sway over a globe that is not rightfully _theirs_! I can’t… I refuse to abandon my post. “

“But isn’t that what you wanted? Freedom?”

Cas shook his head once, jaw set firm, decision made, “Not at all costs. Not at the cost of our fathers most beloved creations. The human cost is too great.”

“You are going to Hell to retrieve Michael’s vessel, Cas. You are already helping him, how is saving Dean’s soul yourself going to stop the fighting?”

“It’s not.” Cas said with a shrug, “It won’t. But maybe, if I can get steal this power away from him then I can… I don’t know, do _something_. I need to _do something_ , Balthazar.”

“You’ll have to play the game, you know? They’re going to reel you in, Castiel, even if that means you need to be reprogrammed.”

“Then so be it. At least I tried to be different. To help.”

Balthazar sobbed, “Please don’t do this.”

“I must.”

“Please come with me.”

“I _can’t._ ”

Rick tugged on Daryl’s shirt sleeve, trying to draw his attention away from the two angels who collided against each other on the beach, embraced in a somber tangle of arms and wings as they said what they believed to be their final goodbye. But Daryl couldn’t tear his eyes away. He let Rick lead him towards a cluster of boulders by the shore, guide him through a cavernous crack in the rocks, as he stared at the two brothers on the shores of the Elysian Sea.

* * *

 

“Oh, thank God,” Rick muttered as they walked into a large, open barn through an impossible back door, “civilization at last.”

It _was_ an immense relief to be back in familiar settings. The barn they were in looked like any old barn, and just the air around them felt like the normal, familiar air of their world. Daryl breathed deep, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself pretend they were back in the waking world. Though of course, since they were in one of Castiel’s memories, it would have been short sighted of him to assume that, just because the memory took place in their world, everything would be normal. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was that the barn was painted with a multitude of sigils and charms, floor to ceiling and back again. There were too many for Daryl to even begin to try and identify, but he recognized a few of them as protective markings, ones he’d spotted in the Winchester’s journal. They were crisscrossing along the walls, the door, the ceiling… some even carved into the floorboards.

The second thing he picked up on was that they were not alone.

There were two men in there with them, both sitting on two separate tables, facing each other and both looking incredibly bored. The older of the two, wearing a hunting vest over a dirty plaid shirt was tapping his fingers along the surface of the table he sat on, whistling nervously. His red rimmed, tired eyes scanning the room from beneath the brim of his baseball cap, and he periodically took a swig from the half empty beer bottle clutched in his left hand, his legs swinging back and forth off the edge of the table.

The other man was younger, just as anxious, and devastatingly handsome. Even if Daryl hadn’t seen him before, pictured on fake id’s that were buried in a cigar box in Castiel’s car, he’d have recognized Dean Winchester from his good looks alone. Looking like a James Dean stunt double, he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the table, denim jeans rasping against the grainy, splintering wood. He was buried in clothes, and Daryl suddenly realized where Cas got his tendency to layer from, taking in the jacket over jacket, over plaid, over _more_ plaid combo that Castiel was so fond of wearing. His full lips pursed, Dean was intently digging the tip of an ornate dagger into the table beside his thigh, green eyes narrowed into slits, until he rolled his them with a sigh and asked, “You sure you did the ritual right?”

Bobby (it had to be Bobby, Daryl attested when Rick asked him who these two were. Dean and Bobby Singer, the Winchester’s adoptive father figure) picked up the sawed-off shotgun that had been sitting beside him and dropped it into his lap, raising a brow at Dean and tilting his head warningly. Dean shrugged dismissively, and with a wave of his hand, he apologized. “Sorry,” he grunted, twirling the dagger in his hand before setting it down gently, “Touchy, huh?”

What are they waiting for, Daryl wondered, walking the perimeter of the barn, and where was Castiel? As if on cue, a loud rattling shook the roof of the barn. All four men looked up with a start, but Bobby and Dean were the only two to arm themselves, taking shotguns in hand and a defensive position at the far end of the room. “What the hell is that?” Rick asked, shouting over the din, and Daryl shrugged helplessly, tracking with his eyes as the sound moved across the roof, towards the front door.

“Wishful thinking,” Dean said, looking over at Bobby warily, “but maybe it's just the wind?”

As if to dismiss his ridiculous explanation, the lightbulb over both of their heads burst in a shower of sparks and glass, followed one after another by every other light in the barn.

The double doors at the front of the building creaked, the board that held them closed bowing once before cracking in two, and the doors swung inward. Rick turned, shielding his face from the raining glass and sparks but Daryl watched, captivated, as Castiel strolled into the barn, looking ten kinds of out of place in an oversized suit and trench coat, his tie on backwards and his hair messier than Daryl had ever seen it before. He sauntered past the exploding lights as if they were of no consequence to him, his blue eyes sharp and narrowed, locked onto Dean with a singular purpose, who in turn was readying his shotgun at the far end of the barn.

Castiel was unfazed when Bobby set off the first shotgun blast, emptying a load of rock salt into Cas’s chest, tearing through the ugly trench without spilling a single drop of blood, and Dean quickly followed suit. The sound of shotguns firing joined the cacophony of exploding lightbulbs, of the wind bullying against the walls, until finally Dean and Bobby shared a helpless look and dropped their useless guns. Dean picked up the dagger he had been playing with previously, holding it behind his back as the noise quieted, and Castiel rounded him, turning his back to Bobby and staring Dean in the eyes. 

“Who are you?” Dean asked, circling Castiel and keeping him in his sights.

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Castiel said in a voice Daryl didn’t recognize, coming to a stop only a few feet away, standing stiffly, awkwardly. This Cas’ voice was grittier, deeper than his modern counterpart, and his hands hung at his sides as he spoke, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Yeah,” Dean said with a cocky eyebrow raise, his fingers flexing around the hilt of the knife, “Thanks for that.” He reared back and plunged the ornamental dagger into Castiel’s chest, straight through his heart.

“Jesus!” Rick hissed, taking a quick step backwards, his shoulders knocking off of the wall. Daryl jolted in surprise as well, staring as incredulously as Dean was when Castiel didn’t react at all, though he still had a knife sticking out of his chest. Dean’s hand slipped from the hilt of the blade, eyes wide and disbelieving as Cas just smiled, looking down at the knife unconcerned, before pulling it out and dropping it to the floor.

Behind him, Bobby attacked with a grunt, swinging at Castiel with the lead pipe in his hands as hard as he could. But without looking, that indolent smirk still firmly in place, Cas caught Bobby’s weapon mid swing, using it to keep Bobby at a distance as he turned around. Castiel frowned, studying Bobby like he was under a microscope, squinting as he picked up on every tumultuous emotion that flitted across his face, before touching two fingers to his forehead. Bobby swayed, his eyes rolling back into his head as he hit the floor, Cas letting him go along with the iron pipe, which clanged off the ground where it fell.

“Bobby…” Dean whispered, his hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides, and he jerked backwards when Castiel turned to him, stepping into his space.

To his credit, Dean stood his ground, and though he looked terrified he gave no quarter. Not even when Castiel stood in front of him, toe to toe and said, “We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”

Dean huffed, and pushing past the angel, he stooped beside Bobby, immediately checking his pulse. Castiel seemed unfazed, moving immediately over to one of the tables to absently peruse the books they had scattered there. “Do not worry,” he said, flipping through an old leather tome, tilting his head as he scanned over its worn, yellow pages, “your friend is alive.”

“Who are you?” Dean demanded.

“Castiel,” came the curt reply.

“Yeah, I figured that much,” Dean snapped back, glaring up at Cas from Bobby’s side, “I mean what are you?”

“I'm an Angel of the Lord,” Cas said simply, looking up from the book.

“Get the hell out of here,” Dean said, rising to his feet, “There's no such thing.”

“This is your problem, Dean,” Stepping into the center of the room, staring Dean in the eye, Cas straightened out, holding his head high as he proclaimed, “You have no faith.”

Lightening flashed, and the shadow of large, dark wings flexed against the wall of the barn. “They’re different,” Rick murmured, “They’re whole.” Daryl hummed his agreement, watching the shadowy wings spread as far as they could within the confines of the barn, unbroken and unburnt.

If Dean was surprised at all by Cas’ display, he didn’t show it. Instead, he swallowed thickly and quipped, “Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes.”

“I warned her not to spy on my true form,” Castiel said with a remorseful shrug, “It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.”

“You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you _talking_?” Dean asked, and when Cas nodded he huffed, “Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

“That was my mistake,” Cas said, dismissively, “Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

Ignoring the not so subtle jab, Dean asked, “And what _visage_ are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?”

“This?” Castiel seemed surprised by the question, and stammered, “This is... a vessel.”

“A vessel?” Rick asked, wheeling to look at Daryl for confirmation, at the same time that Dean snapped, “You're possessing some poor bastard?”

“Not anymore,” Daryl explained, tearing his eyes away from the scene unfolding before them to talk to Rick, “He was a vessel, for a while but then, when Cas died, Jimmy… the man whose body he’s in _right now_ , died as well and went to heaven. When Cas was brought back, it was in an empty vessel and when he fell, the vessel became his body.”

“Why do I keep asking if none of it actually makes any sense?” Rick sighed, his shoulders slumping, expression defeated.

“It helps to just roll with it,” Daryl said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, but Rick shook his head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he muttered, as Dean asked Castiel, “Why’d you do it?”

“Because God commanded it,” Cas said, jaw set firm and eyes burning with all the angelic purpose he could muster, “Because we have work for you.”

As the memory ground to a halt, tapering into silence, Rick dumbfoundedly shook his head and asked, “Why are we seeing this?”

“Because we’re wandering through Cas’ head, and these are his memories?” Daryl replied with a curious frown.

“No, I mean—” Rick gestured to the two men having a staring contest in the center of the barn, then back to the wall he and Daryl had walked through to get there, before throwing his hands up helplessly, “Why are we seeing _these_ memories? Out of all the things Cas has seen and done in his, what… sixty billion years? Why are we stuck in these specific memories?”

“I don’t know,” Daryl admitted, leaning back against one of the tables, “Maybe they’re just the ones Cas was in most recently? We are following his trail, right?”

“That’s what I mean,” Rick said, running a hand thoughtfully across his mouth, “we’re following Cas’ trail, which means he’s going through these memories sequentially. Each one of them is a memory that he is purposefully trying to remember, so why these ones? What is he trying to accomplish by going through them again? How are they connected?”

“Do they have to be?” Daryl asked, “Maybe Cas is just going through them at random.”

But Rick shook his head, “No. These ain’t happy memories, Daryl. If he were just haphazardly going through his memories before he died, why would he choose these ones? The last two we saw were painful, and now this?” Rick waved helplessly to the Castiel standing in the middle of the barn with an open palm, “This Cas is like an automaton. He’s not human at all, just playing at it, and he is so far removed from the man that you and I know—I just…”

“What?” Daryl pressed.

“What if there’s he’d trying to decide something by recalling these specific memories?” Rick asked quietly, “Did you hear what Mephistopheles said to him, before Cas took care of him?” Daryl shook his head, and Rick pressed on, “He called him worthless. Blamed him for everything that’s happened since Lucifer walked out of his cage. He made Cas out to be the villain, and I mean, it is _Cas_ , so…”

“So, he’s taking it all to heart,” Daryl finished for him, sighing heavily, “God damn it, of course he is.” He ran a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on, and asked, “So you think that he’s in here, flipping through every moment that led to his fall, just to see if Mephistopheles is right?”

“Don’t you? It’s Cas.” Rick shrugged helplessly, “He’s got the lowest self-esteem out of anyone I’ve ever met in my life. He thinks he’s a piece of shit on a good day, and now? After having his dirty laundry aired out in front of all of us, and having a _demon_ tell him what a screw up he is?”

“He’s started to believe it,” Daryl said, staring into space, “he doesn’t think he deserves to be saved.”

“If we can’t convince him otherwise,” Rick said, his voice serious, “then he ain’t gonna let Balthazar save him.”

“We best start paying attention to what we’re seeing then,” Daryl decided, pushing off the table and looking for their way out, “start figuring out what to say to him, to talk him down.” He strolled the perimeter of the barn, trailing his fingertips across the painted walls, waiting for something to jump out at him like it had the first time. Something off, not quite right, out of place…. But he was coming up empty. Daryl clicked his tongue sharply, his frustration mounting when he realized Rick hadn’t spoken up at all. In fact, he realized, Rick hadn’t moved from the spot Daryl had left him in.

“Man, what the hell?” he asked, nudging Rick’s shoulder, “This would go a lot faster if you helped me look, you know.”

“Daryl,” Rick said, and Daryl immediately decided he didn’t like the defeated tone he was taking, “If Cas doesn’t want to come back, if he doesn’t want to accept Balthazar’s help, then maybe we should just...” he paused, biting his lip, “maybe we need to consider letting him go.”

“Fuck…” Daryl’s eyes widened with understanding, and sparking with red hot fury he stalked over to Rick, “You fucking liar! ‘I’m going to do everything I can to help Cas.’” Daryl spat mockingly, “Why the hell did you agree to come with me in the first place, if you weren’t willing to _help_ him!?”

“I am, but Daryl,” Rick shook his head, “seeing these memories, I can understand why he might think it best for him not to come back. If he doesn’t want help, then I don’t think we should force him. If he can look back on what he’s done and decide that… dying, here and now, is what he deserves, then I’m inclined to let him.”

“You son of a bitch.” His nostril’s flaring, Daryl stared Rick down, biting his cheek to keep from snapping, “He just got the verbal beat down of the century from a demon who knows who he is, and what he was. A demon who preyed on every single insecurity he had, who laid all the skeletons in his closet out on the table, for all of us to see… no wonder he’s feeling like shit! And yes, Cas did a very bad thing, but he doesn’t _deserve_ to die!” Daryl shook his head, “He’s a good person! I don’t know why I keep having to tell you this, but he is. He’s just confused, a-and feeling down on himself, and fuck if he doesn’t know how to handle that. Some feeling’s he’s got a hold of, but guilt? He’s not good with that, and if we let him, he’ll drown in it.”

“How can you keep on defending him, man?” Rick held his hands out to his sides, gesturing to the barn around them, “After all of the shit we’ve seen already? Two of his brothers, both angels who have known him since the dawn of time, have compared him to _Lucifer!_ And now, I mean just look at him,” he said, pointing to the Castiel in the middle of the room, seemingly frozen in a staring contest with Dean, “He took over some poor man’s body, and got him killed for his trouble,” Rick sighed, looking at Daryl pityingly, “Bad shit follows him like the plague, and that’s clearly not a coincidence. I think you’re just too much in love with him to see the truth.”

“What truth? That he’s Satan 2.0?” His hands curling into fists, his teeth grinding just to keep a level head, Daryl forced himself to keep calm as he asked, “That he’s an evil person, who has somehow convinced himself he’s not? Why are _you_ so willing to villainize him?”

“Because I have _eyes_ ,” Rick said, standing firm, “Because I’ve seen, in three memories alone, that Castiel is probably not the best decision maker. That Cas can be selfish, short sighted and tactless. That he—”

“Is a fucking _person_ ,” Daryl snarled, “so stop talking about him like he’s some _thing_. He’s allowed to fuck up, be selfish and short-sighted, because its what people do.”

“Daryl,” Rick said, his tone verging on exasperation, “he’s not _people_.”

“He is now,” Daryl bit back, “and if you ain’t willing to help? Then you can just sit back and let me handle this.”

“I never said that,” Rick followed Daryl as he went back to looking for the way out, tailing along behind him, “I never said I wasn’t going to help. I will, I just think it might do us some good to think about this rationally. What if he decides he doesn’t want to live? What if his mind is made up? What else are we going to do, our own personal bias aside?”

“I’ll figure it out,” grumbling, Daryl knelt down next to one of the floor boards, which was a slightly lighter color than all the rest, “I always do.”

Rick stood back, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Daryl pry up the floorboards, revealing a set of stairs underneath that led into the pitch-black oblivion under the barn. “Weren’t you the one who said, if it ever came down to it, you’d let him go?” he asked softly, “What if letting him go now is what’s best for him? What if it’s what he wants?”

“It’s not."

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know him,” Daryl snapped, and pulling back the last floorboard, he wiped the sweat from his brow and waved Rick on, “now move your ass.”

Rick held his hands up, a sign of a tentative truce, before they both started down the stairs.

* * *

 

Rick sighed as he entered the next memory, stretching his back and squinting in the bright, mid afternoon sun. They were in a park, in the middle of autumn it seemed, and around them children played on swings and slides, half observed by their parents who were lounging on nearby benches.

Daryl’s heart hammered in his throat as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a park recently, but to see children playing in one, to see people, not Croats, roaming around in the daylight, living their normal, everyday lives? How long had it been since he’d seen _that_? It was difficult, he realized quickly, to let his guard down. Though he knew he was safe (relatively speaking), being outside, so exposed, surrounded by screaming, laughing, screeching kids had his breath hitching, his pulse thundering in his veins. He was panicked, with no reason for it other than he just wasn’t used to seeing _normal_ people anymore. He had to wonder if he would be more comfortable in a park full of walkers, and wasn’t that just a terrifying thought?

“Hey,” Rick said, pointing to a nearby bench, where Castiel and Dean were sitting side by side, watching the children play in the jungle gym. They appeared to be in the middle of a conversation, and if Dean’s terse expression was anything to go by, it wasn’t a good one.

That seemed to be the norm for them, Daryl mused.

As Daryl walked closer, Rick hot on his heels, Dean shook his head and looked down to the ground. “So I, uh, failed your test, huh?” he asked, before nodding “I get it. But you know what? If you would have waved that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call.”

Cas watched him carefully, stoically silent as Dean turned to face him. “'Cause see,” Dean said, his jaw set firm, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is that this, here? These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it? Is still here because of my brother and me.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Cas spoke, and unlike the last two memories he wasn’t vicious, commanding or threatening. He was beginning to sound familiar, though his posture was still stiff and wrong, and he didn’t seem entirely comfortable in his (Jimmy’s, Daryl corrected himself, Jimmy’s still in there) skin. “You misunderstand me, Dean,” he said, “I’m not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town.”

Dean scoffed, “You were?”

“These people,” Cas said, leaning forward on his knees and looking out across the park, “they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation.” He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, “Now that’s not an expression, Dean, it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means.”

His words seemed to cut deeper than any threat he had ever made, and Dean looked down at the ground once more, his expression pained.

“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” Castiel asked after a beat.

“Okay,” Dean agreed.

“I’m not a… hammer as you say,” Cas muttered, averting his eyes, “I have questions, I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here.” He sighed deeply, “But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don’t.”

They shared a look, and Dean looked out to the kids again. When he looked back, Castiel was gone.

Rick was surprisingly silent, and for that, Daryl was glad. He’d already known of this exchange, as Castiel had told him about it one night, when he was feeling particularly vulnerable and needed to share something heavier than he could handle. But seeing it now, in flesh so to speak, it was no wonder Castiel could look to this point in his life for answers as to whether he was deserving of life, or if he were a monster.

He had already pinpointed this as the very moment he had begun to fall.

* * *

 

The next room Daryl and Rick entered into was ornately decorated. The walls were embossed, and it was full of huge, religious paintings and other iconography. Marble tables were scattered across the room, statues of cherubs perched on top and candles slowly burning beside them. In the center of the room, beneath a huge, glittering chandelier was a large dining table, littered with burgers and beer, which Dean was pacing around, cell phone held to his ear.

“C’mon,” he muttered, “c’mon Sammy, pick up the damn phone.” He cursed and looked down at it when he got Sam’s answering machine, and as he was about to dial again, Castiel appeared behind him, taking them all by surprise.

“You can't reach him, Dean,” Cas said drolly, “You're outside your coverage zone.”

“What are you gonna do to Sam?” Dean asked, sliding the phone into his pocket as he stared at the wall, his back still turned to Castiel.

“Nothing,” Cas said with a sigh as he walked across the room, rounding the table until he stood at Dean’s side, “He's gonna do it to himself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean turned to him with a frown, waiting for an answer when Cas looked down at the ground, pensively biting his lip. Stepping towards him, Dean chuckled mirthlessly, “Oh, right, right. Got to toe the company line.” He stopped about a foot away, staring Cas in the face as he asked, “Why are you here, Cas?

“We've been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted to say,” Cas swallowed thickly, meeting Dean’s gaze, his brows furrowed, “I'm sorry it ended like this.”

"’Sorry’?” Dean scoffed, looking away and scanning the room, his tongue pushing at his lower lip. He curled his hand into a fist at least three times before making the decision to punch Castiel, and the instant his knuckles connected with Cas’ jaw he clearly regretted it. It was like punching a brick wall, and though Cas moved with it to lessen the impact, Dean still grimaced, gasping in pain as he flexed his hand. “It’s Armageddon, Cas,” he spat bitterly, “Lilith is going to raise Lucifer. You need a bigger word than ‘sorry’."

“Try to understand—” Cas pleaded, “this is long foretold. This is your—”

“Destiny?” Dean interjected, “Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?”

Cas stepped forward, trying to stand toe to toe with Dean, but he was flustered. His steady, downward progression was evident in his posture, his shoulders slumped forwards and his face more expressive that it had ever been in his earlier memories. Even his voice was closer to what Daryl remembered, inflecting with emotion as he demanded to know, “What is so worth saving?” Cas’ eyes flashed with one last lingering sense of belief, “I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam.”

This time, when Cas stared into his eyes, Dean didn’t back down. He stared right back, studying him intently, a long drawn out pause stretching between them. Castiel’s lashes fluttered, his gaze shifting to the side as he looked away, unable to stand the heat in Dean’s eyes any longer, but Dean wasn’t about to let him off without a fight. He saw his opening; Cas wasn’t certain anymore. He didn’t know if what he was saying was right, or if he was doing the right thing. Like that day on the playground, after the raising of Samhain, he had doubts, and Dean ducked forward, catching his gaze and needling at him, until Castiel was forced to look up at him once more, his expression nervous and wary.

“You can take your peace...” Dean murmured, “and shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise!” As his volume grew, so did Castiel’s suspicion, and soon Cas was looking away from him, jaw clenched in frustration as Dean shouted, “This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it.”

Castiel huffed, and turned away.

“Look at me!”

Dean grabbed his shoulder, turning Cas to face him and amazingly, he went willing.

“You know it!” Dean said again, jabbing his finger into Castiel’s chest, “You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me— now. Please.”

Daryl was sure one could argue that Dean Winchester was a lot of things in his life, but no one could deny he was a persuasive son of a bitch. When he saw an in, he reached and grabbed for it. He held on and didn’t let go. And he had spotted Castiel’s uncertainty a mile away. Now Dean had Cas so close to where he needed him, hovering at the precipice of obedience and treason, and Cas asked helplessly, “What would you have me do?”

“Get me to Sam,” Dean begged, “We can stop this before it's too late.”

“I do that, we will all be hunted,” Cas said, chewing at his bottom lip, “We'll all be killed.”

“If there is anything worth dying for? This is it.” Dean said, throwing all his cards on the table, hoping against hope that Cas would bite…

He didn’t.

Cas blinked once, twice, and looked down at his feet.

“You spineless—” Dean shook his head in disbelief, scoffing as he turned and walked away, “You soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, back to Castiel as he stared at the wall once more, “We're done.”

“Dean—”

“We're done!” Dean snapped.

Cas was gone by the time Dean turned around.

Rick exhaled slowly, his eyes wide as he watched Dean fume in the corner of the room. They were all three of them silent, no one daring to breath, much less speak, and eventually Dean pulled his cell phone out of his pocket once more, calling Sam for the umpteenth time.

It was Rick who broke the silence, clearing his throat before asking, “Why can’t he talk to Sam?”

“I don’t know,” Daryl said, rapping his knuckles distractedly against the marble table in front of him, “Cas never told me about any of this.”

“I guess I can see why,” Rick commented, biting his thumbnail and leaning against an ornate mantle, “I mean, this probably wasn’t one of his proudest moments.”

Daryl shook his head, “He didn’t have many of those.”

Meandering around the room, Daryl skirted the memory of Dean, who was studying the burgers and beers on the table intently, and Daryl studied him in turn. As much as he hated it, as much as it made no sense to him, he couldn’t ignore the pang of heated jealousy that burned in his chest as he watched Dean pick up one of the beers, uncapping it with practiced ease. He was curious about him; Cas never really talked about Dean, at least, not impartially and most of his stories about him weren’t good ones. They were about the Dean who ran Chitaqua into the ground, who led a group of survivors to their deaths in a last-ditch clash of pure vengeance.

This Dean was still far removed from the one Castiel had been with and abandoned. He was young, fit, good looking and incessantly charming. He was smart, he had a heart of gold that he wore on his sleeve, and he wanted more than anything else to do the right thing. In the few memories Daryl had witnessed thus far, Dean was a beacon… a snarky, sassy beacon of righteousness, who had yet to falter in his quest to save the innocent people in the warpath of Heaven and Hell. It was no wonder that Castiel, who had spent his whole life an outsider, a forgotten and broken angel who was in love with humanity, would flock to the one human who embodied the goodness he venerated in their species.

Of course he fell for Dean.

As suddenly as he disappeared, Cas was back, clapping a hand over Dean’s mouth and shoving him into the wall, a blade in hand. He held it tightly, his fingers flexing around the hilt but he didn’t move to attack. Instead, he just stared at Dean, waiting for something that Daryl couldn’t place, and a long moment passed where Dean floundered, not knowing what Cas wanted from him. Soon though, understanding flooded his features and Dean nodded slowly, satisfying Castiel’s silent request as he let him go.

Cas pulled back, rolling his left sleeve up to his elbow and drew the knife across his forearm in a long, deep cut, blood welling up around the blade and dripping to the floor as he severed the artery. Unfazed, he dipped his fingers into his own blood, shouldering Dean out of the way and smearing it on the wall beside him.

It was a similar sigil to the ones Balthazar was scrawling on the walls of Hershel’s house, and Castiel worked in sullen silence, his trembling hands the only thing to betray his nerves as he connected the looping lines of blood. Dean gasped, picking the knife up from the ground where Castiel had dropped it, and both Daryl and Rick wheeled around, just in time to see another angel fuming on the opposite end of the room.

“Castiel!” the angel bellowed, seething with anger, “Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?”

But Cas didn’t answer, and he never stopped painting the sigil, adding the last couple of lines and arcs before slamming his hand in the center. Daryl cried out involuntarily, covering his eyes against the violent flash of white light that enveloped them, and when he looked up again, the other angel had vanished.

“Zachariah won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.” Castiel said, all business as he rolled his sleeve over the ugly looking gash in his arm, and Daryl exhaled sharply when he realized he _remembered_ that scar. He’d traced his fingers over it numerous times, and he’d always wondered just where it came from, but he’d never asked—

“Where is he?” Dean asked, slipping the blade into his jacket.

“I don't know, but I know who does.” Castiel turned to Dean, his eyes pleading, “We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith.”

“B-but Lilith's gonna break the final seal,” Dean stammered.

Cas shook his head sharply, his brow furrowing, “Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

Daryl turned to Rick when Cas and Dean zapped out of the room, trying and failing to keep the smug look off his face. “Don’t say it,” Rick murmured, pressing the bricks around the fireplace, until one of them clicked inwards, “He made one right call, too little too late. That doesn’t absolve him of anything.”

“Whatever you say,” Daryl said, but his step was decidedly lighter as he walked through the secret door that had opened in the fireplace.

* * *

 

The room they entered into next was dark, lit mostly by the ring of fire that Castiel seemed to be trapped in. “Holy fire,” Daryl told Rick as a means of explanation, but he didn’t elaborate. He was too struck by the look of abject horror on Castiel’s face as he stared at the only other person in the room. “Lucifer,” Castiel breathed, and Rick whirled to face the strange man who was leaning against one of the exposed brick walls, his arms crossed as he studied the angel he had trapped in the flames.

“That’s Lucifer?” Rick asked disbelievingly, “he looks… sick.”

“It’s his vessel,” Daryl explained, “not his real body.” He frowned, pondering the peeling, rotting skin that dotted the temples of his vessels face. “This is strange,” he said softly.

Rick huffed, “You think?”

“No, I mean—” Daryl moved closer to this memory of Lucifer, one who was most certainly _not_ Sam Winchester, “When I last saw him, in one of my visions, he wasn’t wearing this vessel.”

“Maybe he traded up?” Rick said, jolting backwards and out of the way as Lucifer stepped forward, closer to the ring of fire.

“So,” he said, his voice low and calm, “I take it you're here with the Winchesters?”

Castiel, on the other hand, was more terrified than Daryl had ever seen him look before. His lower lip trembled, his big blue eyes wide and wary underneath his worried brow, and he seemed to cower behind the flames. “I came alone,” he said, trying to sound assertive, but failing horribly.

“Loyalty,” Lucifer chuckled, looking down and tenting his fingers like a comic book villain, “such a nice quality to see in this day and age. Castiel, right?” he paused for confirmation, continuing only when Cas tentatively nodded his head, “Castiel, I'm told you came here in an automobile.”

“Yes,” Cas answered warily, frowning.

“What was that like?” Lucifer asked.

Cas paused, looking around the room as if he were thinking someone was going to jump out of the shadows and tell him he was being pranked. The Devil had him in his clutches, and he was asking about driving in cars? He couldn’t be serious…

But Lucifer was waiting for an answer, watching him patiently, and Castiel cleared his throat before answering, “It’s slow,” and expounding, “Confining.”

Lucifer hummed, “What a peculiar thing you are.”

Stepping forward, warming his hands in the flames, the light hit his face head on, and he did not look healthy. Castiel frowned at the sight of him, “What’s wrong with your vessel?”

“Yes, Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid.” Lucifer shrugged, “He can't contain me forever, so—”

“You—” Castiel stepped forward in a sudden show of bravery, his eyes narrowing, but stopped short when the fire nipped at his lapels. Glaring at Lucifer, his fists curled at his sides, he hissed, “You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won't let you.”

“Castiel,” Lucifer admonished, sighing deeply and holding his hands out at his sides, “I don't understand why you're fighting _me_ , of all the angels.”

“You really have to ask?” Cas scoffed.

“I rebelled, I was cast out,” Lucifer paced the edge of the ring of fire, gesturing first to himself, then to Castiel, “You rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You're their new public enemy number one.” His shoulders slumped, “We're on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your own best interests? Which in this case just happen to be mine?”

Castiel hesitated, his fingers digging into his palms, before shaking his head sharply. “I'll die first,” he said, and Lucifer sighed, backing away from the circle and into the shadows.

“I suppose you will,” Lucifer muttered, leaning back against the brick wall and crossing his arms over his chest, leaving Castiel sorely dismissed.

As Castiel looked heavenward, biting his lip and no doubt looking for some means of escape, Daryl turned to Rick, who was surprisingly silent, and asked, “What? No smart-ass remark? You got nothin’ to say to all that?”

Rick didn’t even look at him, still staring, mouth agape at the Devil himself. “I just—” he stammered, his gaze snapping back and forth between Cas and Lucifer, “I can’t believe he… he said no.” When he finally looked at Daryl, it was with a pinched frown, “Why would he do that? He’s already rebelled, he’s already been kicked out of Heaven, what’s the point in fighting him?”

“He would rather die, apparently,” Daryl said, “and with good reason. I told you, man, he’s not all selfish. He can do selfish shit sometimes, but his only real goal was to watch over humanity, like the rest of Heaven was supposed to. They lost their way, he didn’t, and that’s why they denounced him the way they did.”

“But they’re _angels_ , its _Heaven_!” Rick cried, brushing his hair back from his face a little too forcefully, too hysterically and Daryl stepped closer, reaching out to pull his hand away before he hurt himself. Jerking out of his reach, Rick swatted his hand away, his expression crumpling as he did, folding in half and resting his hand on his knees as his breath came in panting bursts. “They’re supposed to be the good guys, and now… why would they want this? Why would they just _let_ Armageddon happen?”

“Hey,” dropping a hand to Rick’s shoulder, Daryl pat him awkwardly on the back as Rick hyperventilated, “breathe, man. It’s gonna be okay.”

“None of this is okay,” Rick muttered, wheezing as he struggled to get his breathing under control, “I thought Cas was just wrong, that going against Heaven was fundamentally evil. But he just wanted to—”

“He just wanted to take care of us,” Daryl finished for him, watching Lucifer warily as the projected memory seemed to be looking at them out of the corner of his eye, “He didn’t want us to suffer. He may have lost his way a few times, but since the very beginning, all he ever wanted was the freedom to help us. To save us from obliteration.”

“And all the angels wanted was to destroy us.” Rick shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling a little slower as he got his breathing under control, but he didn’t stand up. He slumped, hunched over his knees and digging his fingers into his thighs, the muscles in his neck flexing as he clenched his jaw. “They let Lucifer rise, because it was their plan all along,” he said.

“Yup,” Daryl nodded solemnly.

“And Cas, the Winchesters… they tried to stop it, how, exactly?” he stood and faced Daryl, “Why are they at the center of all this?”

Daryl shrugged, “I don’t have all the answers.” He paused, biting his lip before adding, “You’ll have to ask Cas.” Lucifer was definitely staring at them now, his lips curling into a twisted little smirk as Rick shook his head sharply and stood his ground, “Man, we gotta go.”

“I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore,” Rick muttered, completely oblivious, his hands trembling, “Who is good or bad, I just don’t know.”

“It’s not so black and white, I don’t think,” Daryl said, tugging on one of Rick’s arms as Lucifer kicked off of the wall, that saccharine grin still on his face ad his eyes fixed on Rick, “not anymore. But we gotta go, _now._ ”

At the panicked tone in his voice, Rick seemed to snap out of it, following his gaze to see the projection of Lucifer slowly lumbering towards them. He cursed, and took off like a shot, racing alongside Daryl through one of the doorways, taking the wooden set of stairs up to the main floor. “How can he see us?” Rick asked, scanning the room for their way out.

“I think we got a little too loud,” Daryl explained, his attention drawn to an odd, cow print rug in the middle of the hall, “and we stuck around too long. We need to be careful from here on.”

Rick nodded, watching the stairs as Daryl lifted the rug, revealing a metal door nestled amongst the floorboards. He turned the knob and the door slipped open, hanging into the giant, bottomless hole. Squinting, Daryl looked into the pit, felt along the four concrete walls that seemed to dive all the way down into the dark, and he couldn’t see if there was an end. “Uh, Rick,” he called over his shoulder, eyes wide with apprehension, “I think we’re going to have to jump.”

Slamming the door at the top of the stairs, Rick barred the it with a nearby table, shoving it bodily against the door. He jogged across the hall to where Daryl stood at the edge of the abyss, and as he approached he visibly paled. “No way,” he said, shaking his head, his wild gaze meeting Daryl’s, “I’m not jumping in there! Is there even a bottom? What if it’s a trap?”

“None of these have been traps before, and a hole to nowhere seems pretty out of place to me,” Daryl said, jolting in surprise when the door to the stairs started to rattle, jostling the table, its legs grinding across the floorboards, “And we’re running out of time. Now I don’t know about you, but I’d rather take my chances with the creepy hole then tangle with the Devil.”

Rick looked desperately over his shoulder at the door, wincing when the hinges splintered in the wood. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, composing himself before giving Daryl a curt nod, his toes hovering over the edge of the hole. “Okay,” he said, “Who goes first?”

* * *

 

Daryl did.

Past the threshold and into the abyss, Daryl wasn’t certain how long he fell for. All he knew was that one moment he was standing on solid ground, and the other, he was plummeting through complete and utter darkness. Soundless space. He could move his arms and legs, and he could breathe. He knew he was moving and could feel the air as it blasted past his face, but he couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t hear Rick, an as much as he cried out, he couldn’t hear his own voice either.

That was, until he landed on his ass in the backseat of the Impala, the whole car shaking with the impact. From the front seat, Rick groaned, having landed on his side and taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder, but he quickly brushed himself off when he noticed where they were.

The car was parked in the middle of a cemetery, in the middle of the day, and through the windshield he could see Sam and Dean standing face to face, with some other man nearby, watching with disdain. Through the glass, Daryl heard him speak, his voice muffled, “You're no longer the vessel, Dean. You got no right to be here.”

“Vessel,” Daryl murmured, biting his lower lip as he watched Dean step forward, palms outstretched and say, “Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I am so sorry.”

Kicking open the back door, Daryl climbed out of the car, backing up until he could see the whole picture. He was certain that this was it; the final confrontation. That was Lucifer inside of Sam, and Michael riding along inside this Adam kid. He’d found a new vessel, one different from Dean.

“Adam isn't home right now,” Michael said drolly.

“So this is it,” Rick said, standing by Daryl’s side, “this is where the end of the world began?” He looked around, frowning, “I thought it would have been somewhere more… impressive.”

“Well,” Dean said with a shrug, “you're next on my list, buttercup. But right now, I need five minutes with him.”

“You little maggot,” Michael hissed, his upper lip curling back in a snarl, “You are no longer a part of this story!” He advanced, hands balled into fists and all of Dean’s bravado fled in an instant. He backed up, floundering as the backs of his thighs hit the hood of the car, just barely keeping his footing. Michael had him in his sights, and he was clearly out of options, when a familiar, gritty voice cut through the silence and the wind.

“Hey, ass-butt!”

Castiel and Bobby stood together at the very top of the hill, and as Michael turned to face them, Cas held something up. It looked like a crystal, about the size of his palm, and when Michael saw it his face fell, and he pleaded, “No, Castiel, you idiot!”

The crystal glowed from the inside out, a dull, white light that got brighter by the second, and when it was just short of blinding Michael croaked, choking on something that seemed lodged in his throat, He coughed once, and small, white crystals erupted from his mouth, scattering with spittle across the dry, dead grass. He coughed again, and this time, a steady stream of them poured from his mouth as his hands started to fall to pieces, his skin turning into salt and crumbling to the ground. He looked up at Cas pityingly, and with his last, garbled breath he muttered, “You’re a fool, brother,” before erupting into salt, nothing left of him but his clothes and a pile of small, white crystals on the ground.

"’Ass-butt’?” Dean asked incredulously, and Castiel shrugged.

“Michael’s neutralized,” Cas said hastily, tucking the crystal back in his pocket, “He cannot return to his vessel, and you are the only one left who can hold him. You need to reach Sam, I—”

Castiel paused with a pained noise, crumpling forward and grasping at his temples with both hands.  

“Cas?!” Dean called, head swiveling back and forth between Cas and Lucifer, not willing to let either angel out of his sights, “what’s wrong!?”

“I can’t hear them—” Castiel bit his lip, his eyes misting as he suddenly sobbed, “It’s so quiet, I can’t…”

“Cas?” Bobby asked, taking a step towards him.

“The angels,” Cas said, shaking his head and trying to pull himself together, “They’re gone. It’s radio silence, and I think… I think Michael just boarded up Heaven.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer stepped forward, propelling Sam’s body and standing menacingly tall, “Did you just turn my brother into a pillar of salt?”

“Um,” Castiel shrugged helplessly, “no?”

Lucifer clenched his jaw, “No one dicks with Michael but me.”

A simple snap of his fingers was all it took to bring Castiel to the ground, howling in agony. His back arched, his head flung so far back it looked as though it may snap, Cas only managed to support himself on his hands and knees for a moment, before he was flung to the ground with a sickening crack. His face in the mud, hands scrabbling at the dirt, he wept as his wings crackled in and out of focus, bending at odd angles, bowing until they snapped, until shards of bone jutted out from torn ligaments. Wreathed in an unnatural blue flame, his wings continued to break and crumple, burning as they were broken, and the scent of smoldering flesh swamped over the cemetery.

Barely clinging to consciousness, his face deathly pale, Cas looked up at Dean and begged him, “Dean, do it now!”

“Sammy,” he asked hesitatingly, “can you hear me?”

Sammy couldn’t hear him. Sammy was buried it seemed, as Lucifer used his body to beat his brother half to death. With Castiel down for the count, still writhing on the ground and whimpering pitifully, Bobby was Dean’s only back up, shooting Lucifer in the back once, and twice in the chest, before his neck was snapped by a flick of Lucifer’s wrist. Dean had screamed at that, his heart breaking and Lucifer took full advantage, hauling him off the hood of the Impala where he’d thrown him, and dragging him to the ground.

Through the ungodly beating, through every punch and kick, every broken bone and split flesh, Dean begged. On his knees, looking up at the Devil in his brother’s body, he pleaded with Sam to surface, just one last time. Even within an inch of his life, Dean spoke to him kindly, lovingly. “Sam, it's okay. I'm here,” he assured him, even as Lucifer cracked him across the temple for the umpteenth time, “I'm not gonna leave you.”

Scoffing, Dean’s shirt balled in his hand, Lucifer drew back his fist for another punch… and hesitated. His hand hovering in the air, level with his face, his expression grew taut, a powerful fury blazing in his eyes for one quick moment, when suddenly he gasped and threw himself back, letting go of Dean in the process. He buried his head in his hands, panting and groaning behind his palms, every muscle in his body straining under some unseen force, and with a final, pained cry he dropped his palms and looked up, stunned.

His expression had completely changed. It was the same face, Sam’s face, but the person in charge wasn’t Lucifer.

Sam had managed to surface, just for a moment.

“Dean,” he cried, shaking his head and trying to keep control, “Dean, it’s okay.” His fists clenched, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a metal object, four rings bound in a triangular shape, “I’ve got him. It’s going to be o—”

Sam’s face went blank. His brow relaxed, his clenched teeth parted and the object in his hand disintegrated into nothing.

“Sammy!!” Dean cried, trying to pull himself up onto the car, “Sammy, no, please! We’re so close, please!”

As quickly as he surfaced, Sam was gone. Lucifer turned to Dean, pity in his eyes and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “You fucked it all up Dean,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “bungled the whole plan. Now Michael is gone, and there’s no one left to stop me, is there?” He sighed, “Sure, it didn’t go the way it was supposed to, but a pyrrhic victory is a victory nonetheless.”

“So, thank you, I guess.” And with a snap of his fingers, Lucifer was gone.

The wind rushing across the cemetery, moaning past the tombstones and the withered old trees was the closest thing to life left in that place. Dean crumpled to the ground, staring at the spot where his brother had breathed his last, utterly defeated. Bobby lay dead in the dirt, and Castiel was still moaning on the ground, his wings snapping back out of their dimension as the flames that engulfed them died down to cinders.

In the distance, thunder cracked.

“Dean?” Cas called weakly, lifting his head up and looking for him across the field, “Dean, please, we have to—” he coughed, his fingertips ripping into the grass as he tried desperately to pull himself up, “we need to leave. To regroup, we need a plan.”

But Dean sat motionless, unhearing. Staring at the spot of grass where his brother disappeared, and Castiel moaned in frustration. Heaving himself mightily onto his hands, he cried out in pain, dragging himself along the ground excruciatingly slow, only an inch at a time on his way over to Bobby. The old drunk was long gone, his head on backwards, his hat flung across the field with the force of which his neck snapped, and Cas sniffled as he reached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, placing a hand on Bobby’s forehead and closing his eyes in concentration, “I’m sorry Bobby.” When nothing happened, Cas only sobbed harder, dropping his forehead to Bobby’s temple, squeezing his fingers into his forehead, but to no avail. “Please,” Cas begged, “please God, just one last time. Please!”

With a snap that echoed across the hill, Bobby’s neck righted itself, and he shot up with a gasp, knocking Cas’ hand off his forehead and scaring the living shit out of him. He breathed heavily, feeling his neck, his face, taking his pulse… and he met Dean’s gaze across the field, who was broken from his stupor as Bobby was rudely dragged back to life.

All three men looked at each other, at a loss and completely defeated.

Their two, unseen witness stood speechless.

Thunder cracked in the distance once more.

“I’m sorry, Daryl,” Rick said, breaking the quiet, “I didn’t know.”

“There’s nothin' to be sorry for,” Daryl said in response, “I didn’t either.”

They left through the back door of the Impala, not another word shared between them, each feeling the bitter sting of the end.


	34. Family Don't End with Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeez... This is another long one, and it's FUCKING sad. I'm so sorry, but it had to come to this eventually...
> 
> This chapter contains Castiel's memories from his three odd years in Chitaqua, and I will warn you, they are savage. Prepare yourself for drug abuse, unhealthy co-dependent relationships, emotional manipulation and the aftermath of rape/non-con. There are a lot of traumatic goings on in this chapter, so be forewarned... though it ends on a much more hopeful note than you would be expecting, and there are some cute Dariel moments in here as well (finally! I was having withdrawal!). 
> 
> The next chapter sees us getting back to the real world, and shit is gonna hit the fan!! Thanks for sticking with me, I hope you enjoy!

The door to the Impala morphed into ugly, retro bead curtains, strung across the door of a cabin that was sparsely decorated and covered in junk. It was rustic, with a single electric lamp in the corner and dozens of unlit, half burnt candles scattered around the room. The small bathroom off the single, main room didn’t have a door, but it was fully equipped and well loved, kept clean despite the cluttered cabin. The furniture was sparse and utilitarian, just a bed, a table and a dresser, but the walls were lined with random shelves, and along those shelves and every other flat surface were scattered eclectic little objects: ceramic animals, little Lego people, other such oddities, and books. The picture that Cas always carried around, the one of him standing the Camp Chitaqua gates, was propped on the table next to the bed, being held up against the wall by two bottles of painkillers, both empty. 

“This is Cas’ room,” Rick said matter of factly, as if the picture wasn’t a dead giveaway, “in his old camp.”

Daryl nodded.

As if on cue, Cas walked through the door, the beads rustling and startling both of them. This Cas looked closer to the one Daryl knew, but he was still… different. He looked tired, ill and thin (thinner than his Cas, which was saying something). The bags under his eyes looked like a permanent fixture, and his cheeks were sunken and sickly.

Grabbing a book of matches from a table near the front door, this Cas meandered around the room, lighting a multitude of candles one by one, struggling to hold on to the lit match with his trembling fingers. He moved slow and gracelessly, sitting heavily on the bed when he was done, his bony shoulders poking through the thin, gauzy shirt he was wearing as he slumped forward, resting with arms on his knees. He sat still for a moment, staring into space before picking up the bottle of painkillers on his bedside table. Cas shook it, grimacing when he saw it was empty, and with a sigh he dropped it on the ground. He looked exhausted from just that amount of exertion, and his shoulders shook rhythmically, seemingly beyond his control as he flopped back across the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.

For a while, the only sound was the slowly growing roar of the wind, a storm rolling in and kicking up the late autumn leaves around the cabin, and buffeting the loose tin roof. Castiel breathed into his palms, relaxing back into the mattress and trying to keep from shaking, when the curtains suddenly parted, and Dean stumbled in… only he looked different, as well. Daryl may not have known him beyond what he’d seen in Castiel’s memories, but this Dean looked ages older than he should have. He looked worn and defeated, and as he stumbled through the bead curtains, waving them out of his face and glaring at them blearily, he was also clearly drunk.

Castiel stiffened when he saw him, sitting up straight and bristling like an angry cat as he jumped to his feet, shaking his head and holding his hands out defensively. “No. No, this is not happening,” he said sternly, stepping into Dean’s personal space and blocking his path into the cabin proper, “Not tonight. Get out, now.”

Dean frowned and slurred, “I thought you and I had an open-door policy?”

“Not anymore, not when you’re drunk,” Castiel said, pulling a face at the smell of alcohol on Dean’s breath. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and spun him around, shoving him towards the door, “You need to leave. Now, Dean.”

“Cas, please,” Dean begged, his hands shooting out in front of him to hold onto the door frame, pushing back against Castiel, “I can’t be alone right now.”

“That’s not my problem, I can’t—”

Dean choked on a sob, and Cas froze, and though he still held tight to Dean’s shoulders, he stopped pushing him towards the door. His hands trembled with the force of Dean’s sobs (silent now, though they shook violently through his body), and Cas looked at him pityingly. His resolve tested, Cas bit his lip, his gaze darting around the room until he finally gave in, rolling his eyes with a heavy groan.

Turning Dean around, Cas let him crumple against his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around Cas’ shoulders and his breath reeking of whiskey and cigarettes. Dean a deep, wracking sob tore through his defenses, although he tried desperately to hold it in, and Cas was helpless, running his hand up and down Dean’s back as he let him bawl against his neck. The stood in the doorway for a long moment, Castiel basically holding Dean upright, before a crack of thunder and a flash of lightening illuminated the dim cabin.

Propelled into motion, Cas walked Dean over to the bed and sat him down against the headboard, untangling himself for only a moment so he could walk past Rick and Daryl into the bathroom. Cas picked up a glass from beside the sink, pausing when he caught a glimpse of the empty syringes by the tap. He looked hurriedly over his shoulder, and when he was confident Dean couldn’t see, he swept it off the lip of the basin into the rubbish bin. He came back to the bed with a glass of water, Dean none the wiser.

“Thank you,” Dean mumbled, taking the glass and sipping it tentatively.

“Don’t mention it,” Cas said, sitting at the foot of the bed and staring out the window, watching as the first smattering of rain fell in the courtyard.

Dean followed his gaze, and they listened to the raindrops hitting the tin roof, the warm smell of wet earth wafting past the cloying scent of incense that permeated everything in Cas’ cabin. He coughed to clear his throat and rubbed at his eyes, not reacting in the slightest when Cas placed a hand on his knee.

“I wish you’d come to me _before_ everything blows up in your face,” Cas said, turning back from the window and catching Dean’s eye.

Dean looked down, cracked some semblance of a smile and nodded, “Yeah, me too.” 

“What was it this time?” Castiel asked.

“Yates went postal on what was supposed to be a routine gig,” Dean said, pursing his lips, “We were patrolling the perimeter of the western hot-zone, when one of those electrical storms passed by, and this Humvee… this army vehicle, on the side of the road, it’s radio just came alive. There was this army broadcast and—” he laughed, frantic and completely devoid of humor, dragging a hand down one side of his face, “this is happening across the country Cas. There were reports in Colorado, Michigan, Nevada and Kansas. Some as far South as Florida. And Yates, he heard this and he— he snapped. He lost it, ranting and raving, talking about how pointless this all is and he was bringing every Croat down on us, he just _broke_!”

Cas asked hesitantly, “Did you have to…?”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “he took himself out. We booked it, started to run and he just stayed there, gunning Croats down till he ran out of bullets. Then he just… went under.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured.

Dean didn’t seem to hear him. He leaned back against the headboard and looked distantly out the window. “I thought we’d have more time,” he said, “After Sam, I thought… this is fine. I mean, its horrible, but we can still stop this. We can come up with another plan, we can amass our resources with any hunter who will help us, and we can bring Lucifer down. We can still win this war.”

He sighed, and Cas shifted slightly, the bed creaking underneath them.

“After Bobby, though—” Dean huffed and drew his lower lip between his teeth, “Cas, it’s all falling apart. There’s so much to do just to make it through each day, and I’m starting to think that maybe we really _did_ lose that day in Stull Cemetery. Maybe we lost the day we let Sam say yes to the Devil. Maybe we were too proud, too headstrong, and maybe we were doomed from the start. Some days I think that we’re the bad guys, you know? If we’d just let it all play out as planned, if I’d said yes to Michael from the very beginning…”

“Then none of the people in this camp would be alive,” Cas said.

“You don’t think that would be better?” Dean asked, lifting an eyebrow, “Kinder?”

Cas shook his head. “No, I don’t. Paradise for some is no paradise I want a part in. You taught me that,” he said, shuffling closer and laying his hand on Dean’s knee again, “And as long as there is still the will to fight, hope isn’t lost. We messed up, miscalculated and now Lucifer walks free, but… there are billions of people on this planet who are alive now, who wouldn’t be if we let Lucifer and Michael fight as foretold. Billions of people who are living amongst Croats and demons, and who may still die. But at least they have a _chance_. People are all that matter now, and because of us they have a chance to fight for their lives, whereas if we didn’t step in, they would have just been obliterated. Humanity has gone through this before. Not the apocalypse, but apocalyptic events, and you’ve persisted. Honestly, you’re like cockroaches—”

Dean laughed, a real laugh this time, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Or I guess, _we_ are,” Cas added with a smile.

“I’m sorry Cas,” Dean said, still half smiling, “I’m sorry you’re stuck here with us.”

“I chose this,” Cas said simply.

“No, you didn’t.” Dean reached forward, covering Cas’ hand with his own, “You didn’t choose the life of a fucked-up junkie, wasting away in a cabin in the woods, at the edge of existence.”

That seemed to sting, and Cas’ mouth snapped shut. “Granted,” he said, looking down at their joined hands, “I didn’t plan to end up _here_ , exactly. I didn’t plan any of this at all, but… I got one thing that I wanted at least.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked, shifting closer, their thighs brushing against each other as they sat side by side.

“Even if I’m here, at the end of the world,” looking up at his face, Cas smiled sadly, “at least I’m facing it with you.”

“Cas—”

“Don’t. Please, I can’t hear you put yourself down anymore,” cupping Dean’s cheek with his palm, Cas stroked his thumb across his cheekbone, his touch featherlight, “You’re doing what you can Dean, and as long as you keep helping these people, then you’re doing a good job. You’re doing great work.”

Dean bit his lip, unconsciously leaning into Castiel’s palm as they stared at each other, a million and one emotions flitting across their faces, every word they couldn’t seem to voice silently flowing between them. And then Dean broke the spell, leaning forward to press his lips to Castiel’s, who pulled away, just out of reach and shook his head. 

“No,” he murmured, eyes downcast, “not this time, I can’t—”

Dean’s frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this again, Dean,” Cas repeated, pulling out of his grasp completely and shuffling down to the foot of the bed, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Well, if I don’t know what I’m doing—”

“You know exactly what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it for months,” Cas snapped, and Dean leaned back against the headboard, brows furrowing, “You come here in the midst of some crisis, after weeks of not talking or even looking at me, and you break down. You look to me to pick you up, to put you back together and I do it, every time. I always will. You’re my friend, my family, or course I will always help you.”

“Then _help_ me Cas. _Please_ ,” Dean shuffled forward again, crowding Cas against the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands, “You’re the only person who knows me, who knows all of me, and for you to be with me, to want me after everything I’ve done? It’s like… you’re the last familiar thing I have left. I _need_ you.”

“Then you’ll have me—” Cas said.

Dean leaned in to kiss him again, and this time, so close their noses brushed together, Cas stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“If you’ll stay.” He finished.

“Cas, c’mon…”

“No. I can’t do this anymore Dean,” Cas knocked his hands off his face and stood, pacing across the cabin, his arms crossed over his chest, “If you want me, then you have me, but you need to stop leaving. You can’t come in here and remind me how much I love you, bury your guilt and your shame inside of me, just to leave again once you’re done. I can’t be the one to take it from you, I can’t shoulder that burden anymore. Not on my own.” He turned back to Dean, who was sitting at the edge of the bed, and said, “I will help you, but I will not be the place you dump your feelings when they get too heavy. I have my own baggage to carry.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean threw his hands up in frustration, “You knew who I was, how I am, long before we ever started sleeping together. It’s not like I was mister commitment before the world ended, how can you expect me to be that guy _now?_ Even if it wasn’t the fucking apocalypse, that’s not who I am.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me.” Cas said with a dirty look on his face, leaning back against his dresser and jostling the collection of ceramic toads standing atop it, “I’m not even asking for commitment, just some fucking acknowledgement! I’m asking you not to leave this cabin in the morning with your tail tucked between your legs, reeking of shame, and ignore me until you’re depressed and horny again. I’m asking for some god damned respect!”

That seemed to take the wind out of Dean’s sails. He looked taken aback, and stood slowly, ducking his head to meet Castiel’s eyes across the dim room. Staccato raindrops beat down on the cabin in time with his footsteps as he walked towards Castiel. “I never meant to make you feel like that, I—I do respect you,” he said, “You stuck it out with me, man, through thick and thin, or _course_ I respect you. Don’t you know that?”

“I want to.” Cas said with a shrug, “Which is why you have a choice. You can stay, but you need to promise me it won’t be the same as the last time, or the time before that, and so on. And if you can’t? You can leave right now, and not come back.”

“Who else can I go to, if not for you?” Dean asked as the crossed the cabin, a bright flash of lightening playing shadows across his face, and when he reached out, Cas let him take hold of his upper arms and pull him closer. “There’s no one else, you’re the only person who will look at me, at all of the horrid and awful shit I’ve done, listen to all of the crap I need to do, and still think of me as a person,” he said, running one hand up Castiel’s arm to his neck, to cradle the back of his head, “You’re a saint, Castiel. I couldn’t make it without you. I’ll stay, if that’s what you need then I promise I’ll stay this time… just, please…”

Cas worried his lower lip between his teeth, his brows furrowing before he nodded, almost imperceptible in the dim candle light and this time when Dean leaned in to kiss him, Cas let him. He let Dean’s fingers tangle in his hair, and his plush lips slide against Cas’ own. He let Dean kiss him tenderly, hold him like a bird he feared would break if he struggled in his grasp, and Cas cried against him. He sobbed against the insistent press of Dean’s lips, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek to hover at his chin, and when Dean pulled back, he wiped it away, forlorn in the face of Castiel’s grief.

“You’re such a liar,” Cas muttered.

“I’m sorry.” Dean said, but he didn’t back off. He brushed Castiel’s hair back from his forehead, the sweetness of the gesture wrenching another sob from Cas’ throat, “I’ll leave if you really want me to.”

“No,” Cas said, grabbing both of Dean’s wrists and keeping him close, “God help me, no. I want you to stay.”

Cas kissed Dean again, slow and full, their every movement stilled save for the gentle push and pull of their lips. And when they parted, Cas sighed, leaning his forehead against Dean’s and looking into his eyes contemptuously.  

“I hate you for doing this to me,” he whispered, “I hate what you turn me into, every single time.”

Dean nodded, “I hate me, too. That I can promise, at least.”

Rick had to pull Daryl away, gently leading him by the shoulders through the back door to the cabin, and though Daryl followed his feet felt like lead blocks. They dragged along the wooden floor and though he wanted more than anything to look away, he couldn’t. It was like a train wreck as Cas and Dean kissed, both still red faced from crying, and no longer gentle. They kissed like they wanted to suffocate each other, smothering with lips and tongue, and they clawed at their clothes, tearing down to the skin like they wished to climb inside each other. It was vicious and needful, messy and wrong, and somehow so tragic that even through the bitter sting of worthless jealously, Daryl couldn’t for the life of him tear his gaze away.

“It’s not real, man,” Rick said, tightening his grip on Daryl’s shoulder as he led him across the room and out of sight.

“It was,” Daryl murmured, following Rick out through the back of the cabin and into the downpour.

* * *

 

The rain slowly morphed into beads, and before they realized it, they were walking through the same tacky curtains, through the front door and into Castiel’s cabin.

It was a complete mess. The pill bottles seemed to have multiplied, scattered around the room, piled under the bed and the dresser, a few littering the bathroom counter. Cas had clearly abandoned any pretext of sobriety, as most were empty and his bedside table was covered in a light dusting of pale, yellow powder. But his random assortment of stuff was still there, the cabin still lovingly decorated. Not much had changed in that respect, at least.

The scene they walked into was hectic from the start, and found Castiel slumped on the floor next to the bed, his eyes half closed and rolled back into his head, his lips blue. A short, bearded man hovered over him with a preloaded syringe in hand, and both Rick and Daryl winced as he brought the needle down into Castiel’s thigh, jamming it hard through the thick fabric of Cas’ jeans and begging under his breath. The seconds ticked by, and no one moved: not Cas, who was still slouched against the bed, the bearded man, who was frozen next to him, watching his face intently, nor Rick and Daryl, who seemingly held their breath as they waited for the inevitable. Suddenly, Cas’ eyes snapped open, and with a gasp he sat up straight, trying to back away but only managing to push himself further into the side of the bed, while the bearded man breathed a sigh of relief.

Shaking, Castiel made a pitiful sound, his limbs jittering and his bare toes rapping against the floor boards as he groaned in pain. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his midsection as he looked around the room, his eyelids drooping and his movements sluggish. Catching sight of the bearded man, he frowned. “Chuck,” he slurred, his eyes slipping shut for a moment, and it seemed as if opening them again was a herculean effort, “what…?”

The bearded man (Chuck, apparently), sat back on his heels. “You OD’d,” he said curtly, wiping a hand across his sweaty brow, “Again. Only this time, you weren’t waking up on your own.”

“Oh…” Cas said, his face expressionless and his voice flat, “how long?”

“Since I found you?” Chuck paused and looked heavenward, as if collecting his thoughts, “Three minutes. I had to run to Risa’s cabin to grab the Narcan,” he said, gesturing to the needle still sticking out of Castiel’s thigh, “so maybe closer to five. But before that? Who knows.”

Studying the syringe sticking out of his leg like it was the first time he’d ever seen one, Cas reached down and yanked it from his thigh without ceremony. He could barely hold it in his weak, trembling fingers and it clattered to the ground, his hand flopping listlessly against the floor. He looked confused, scared and half awake, catching Chuck’s eye. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap his lips shut and clap a hand over his mouth as he vomited against his palm.

Chuck cursed and guided him onto his hands and knees, puke dripping through his fingers and onto the hardwood floor. Barely holding himself up, Cas let go of his mouth and heaved again, bile and stomach acid joining the slowly growing puddle on the floor as Chuck darted into the bathroom to grab a towel. Dropping it onto the ground, he let Cas weakly wipe his hand off on it before dragging him into the bathroom and leaning him against the toilet.

He went weightlessly, his legs and feet dragging along behind him as Chuck gave it his all, pulling him along the floor of his cabin, both hands looped under Cas’ arms. Once he was dropped at the toilet, Castiel dry heaved, whimpering as every wretch jostled his head against the porcelain bowl, his shoulders trembling with such ferocity he looked as though he might take flight. Panting, he watched Chuck blearily out of the corner of his eye, the other man wetting a washcloth and filling a glass at the sink, murmuring his thanks when Chuck offered him the glass.

“You weren’t breathing.” Chuck said, wiping Cas’ brow with the cool, damp cloth.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Chuck snapped, crouching next to Castiel, “You don’t have to apologize to _me_. You should be apologizing to _yourself_. You need to stop this!”

Cas glared at him from his place on the floor and tried to shove him away, but he was so weak, so feeble that his hand just bounced off Chuck’s chest. He slumped back onto the toilet in defeat, his temple knocking off the edge of the bowl as he was unable to hold it up. “I’m fine,” he swore, but the listless expression on his face and the way he curled his whole body around the toilet bowl said otherwise.

“You’re not fine!” Chuck said, “You were just _dead!_ You fucking died, does that not mean anything to you?”

“Why should it?” Cas snapped back, his head lolling back on his shoulders as he feebly glared at Chuck, “We’re surrounded by death. Hunted by death. We’re all going to die, sooner rather than later, so what does it fucking matter if I die of an overdose or at the hands of a Croat? At least this way is painless.”

Chuck fumbled for a response. His fingers clenched around the cloth, water dripping in between his fingers and on to the floor, and Castiel stared him down. His eyes were dull, but his glare was still crippling, and Chuck eventually grumbled under the weight of it. There was clearly no arguing with Castiel.

Sitting down with a sigh, Chuck kicked his legs out in front of him and dropped the washcloth to the ground. “Do you remember the night Sam killed Lilith?” he asked.

Cas scoffed, breaking away from the toilet long enough to rinse out his mouth with water. “The night I _actually_ died?” he asked, “Of course. You don’t easily forget being obliterated by an archangel. "

“I said you weren’t supposed to be in this story, and do you remember what you said?” Chuck paused, waiting for a response but Cas stayed silent, staring at him warily. “You said you’d hold them all off,” Chuck answered for him, “and you did. You did and you died for your trouble, just so Dean could make it to Sam. To stop him from breaking Lucifer out of the cage.”

“And a lot of good that did,” Cas murmured, “We still lost. We _always_ lose.”

Chuck shook his head, “Not always. You were brought back. You were gone, man. Toast. I was finding chucks of you behind my couch for months! But God brought you back.”

“What’s your point?” Cas asked, clenching his jaw and whimpering as particularly painful tremor coursed through him.

“Maybe you’re supposed to be here.” Chuck said, biting his lower lip, “Maybe… God wants you to keep carving your own path. To keep living.” He placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder, “Did you ever think that maybe he has a plan for you? A greater purpose? I can count how many times you’ve died, or almost died, on both hands. But somehow you keep coming back. There has to be a reason for it.”

Cas’ expression glossed over, and he whispered, as if he were imparting some awful, dark secret, “There’s no reason for anything, Chuck. Horrible shit just happens, and then we die. God doesn’t have a plan, and even if he did? It doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure God is dead.”

Chuck backed away, exhaling slowly, and asked, “What the _hell_ happened to you?”

Leaning his forehead back against the toilet, a weak, shit-eating grin on his face, Castiel said succinctly, “Life.”

“Was Cas using when you found him?” Rick asked Daryl, both hovering in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Cas lay out the last of his dignity as he vomited again, hitting his head so hard on the side of the bowl he left himself dazed, needing to be held up by Chuck.

“Yeah, kind of,” Daryl said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame, “He was on his fifth day without, and he hasn’t touched anything since.”

Rick hummed, “Except whiskey. And pot.”

“Hey,” Daryl said defensively, “if it keeps him away from _heroin_ —”

“You should’ve told me,” Rick said as he walked back into the bedroom, sidestepping the towel covered vomit on the way past Cas’ bed, “I could’ve helped.”

“You were a cop,” Daryl conveniently reminded him, noticing a small door, about three feet high, in the wall next to Cas’ dresser, “I didn’t know how you’d react. Shane’s your partner, and he didn’t take to kindly to Merle’s meth habit.”

“Yeah well,” Rick leaned back against the dresser with a sigh, “that was Merle.”

Daryl froze, bent in half and midway through opening the tiny door, and Rick winced. “Sorry,” he said, running his thumb across his bottom lip, “I shouldn’t talk like that. I barely knew the man, and he _was_ your brother.”

“No, you’re right,” Daryl said, yanking open the door and crouching down onto his knees, “Merle and Cas are very different people… but they were both addicts. And they both had their demons.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

“Do me a favour?” Looking through the tiny, open door into the black abyss that was always on the other side of their exits, watching the swirling, dark miasma coil and writhe, Daryl asked, “Don’t tell Cas what you know. It’ll just be one more thing he’ll think he needs to be ashamed of.”

“Okay.” Rick said, without hesitation, “After everything… it’s the least I can do." 

* * *

 

Crawling through the tiny door, griping about being sick of “all this Lewis Carroll bullshit,” Daryl groaned in frustration as he felt the telltale tap of beads against his forehead. As the curtains parted he stood, back in Castiel’s Chitaqua cabin for a third stint… only this time, something was clearly amiss.

If in the second memory, the room was messier than the first, then this time, it was almost unrecognizable.

It was as if a cyclone had rolled through. Furniture was scattered. The table beside the bed was uncharacteristically empty, and the armchair in the corner of the room was toppled over. The most noticeable difference was the hole in the wall, over the top of the dresser, like someone had put their fist through it. There was a dark, dried smear of blood beside it.

But the most telling bit of destruction were Castiel’s things. All his stuff, from the books to the little ceramic goblins he kept on the shelf by his bed, were scattered across the room. Some torn, some smashed, cracked off the walls or the floor in such a rampant display of destruction, that Daryl almost missed Castiel, who was curled into a tight little ball, laying over top the covers on his bed.

Wrapped up in his oversized Stanford hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, he lay facing the wall, his eyes open and expression blank. He had been crying, and he was injured, a big gash along his lip and bruising across the left side of his face, but Daryl couldn’t get a good look at it. He had his face half buried in the pillow, his hands lying in front of him, limp against the bedspread, and upon closer inspection his knuckles were torn up and raw, angry red scrapes that were sluggishly healing along the back of his right hand. His eyes were dull and blank, and judging by his pallid demeanor and his slow, shallow breathing he was clearly incredibly high.

“What the hell happened to him?” Rick asks, and that was all it took for Daryl to connect the dots.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand across his lips, “we shouldn’t be here. We need to go, _now_.” He knew what memory this was, and he knew that Castiel would be mortified, absolutely beside himself, if he knew that Rick or Daryl saw this. Immediately, he started searching the room, dragging his hand along the walls, trying to figure out where their exit was, keeping Cas out of his line of sight. It was clearly after the fact (Cas’ wounds were already healing), but he wasn’t certain he could see him like this. He didn’t know if he could take it.

Suddenly, the bead curtains were thrown back and a large, bald man stalked into the room. In a tee-shirt and cargo pants, he was a menacing figure, standing almost a foot taller than Daryl or Rick, all bulky muscle and purpose. He furiously took in the state of the room, looking around at the mess, and he was damn near steaming at the ears when he spied the hole in the wall. But when he noticed Castiel, balled up on the bed, stoned out of his mind and crying silently… his expression softened. Walking over, he sat on the bed next to Castiel, who didn’t bother to look at him. He didn’t move, didn’t react at all, and the man, picking up the bottle sitting at his bedside and glancing over the label, slumped forward with a sigh.

“Risa’s got you on the good stuff, huh?” the man said in a deep, gravelly baritone, “Jesus.”

At the sound of his voice however, Cas snatched the bottle from the stranger’s hand and rolled over in a huff, pulling his hood up even higher. He probably meant it as a means of defense, but it only left him more exposed as Castiel’s sweater rode up his lower back, and the man cursed when he saw the angry bruises dotting Castiel’s hips.

“Why are you here, Ian?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.

“I wanted to check up on you,” Ian said, turning away from Castiel to afford him some modesty, “Make sure you were eating, taking care of yourself and… you know, not dead.”

Cas flopped onto his back, waving both hands mockingly in the air. “Well, surprise! I’m alive,” he snapped, “now you can leave.”

But Ian just shook his head. “I heard from Chuck that they aren’t gonna do anything to Jason?” he said, his eyebrows furrowing, “Just a slap on the fucking wrist, after what he did to you? That’s messed up, Cas. Where is Dean in all of this? Why isn’t he saying anything?”

Freezing, Castiel’s eyes widened a fraction before he slapped on his well practiced, guarded expression once more. “Because I told him not to,” he whispered, looking past Ian’s head, at a candle sluggishly burning in the corner of the room.

“What?” Ian asked, trying and failing to keep his volume under control, “Why!?”

Cas sat up straight, his hood falling off as he moved and all three of his visitors got their first good look at his face. Ian bit down on his lip, digging his fingers into his thighs and Rick looked away with a pained groan.

Castiel’s left eye was swollen shut, barely able to open, and the stitches along his (clearly broken) orbital bone were depressing into his enflamed skin. His lip was split, the whole left side of his face was one big, fat bruise and Daryl made himself look. He made himself take in every inch of Castiel’s poor, mangled face, knowing he would never forget it but not letting himself glance away. It hurt him terribly, cut him to the quick to see Cas like this… however, it had hurt Cas more.

But through his injuries, and the unenviable trauma there was still a spark of _his_ Castiel in there. He still looked at the stranger on his bed with defiance, his jaw set firm and good eye narrowed, daring him to say something.

Daryl couldn’t help but take solace in that.

“There’s no point, like you said, nothing’s going to come of it anyways,” Castiel looked down at the bed, picking at a loose thread in the blanket as he murmured, “Besides, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ian made a pained noise, staring disbelievingly as he demanded, “How can you even think that? Look at you! He beat you half to death, he _raped_ you—”

“Oh god,” Rick breathed, staring resolutely at the wall of the cabin, one hand on his hip and the other covering his mouth, his face pale.

“No!” Cas cried, and Ian jumped at his intensity, “No, he didn’t… do _that_. I asked him to have sex, he was just taking me up on it!”

“Did you ask him to beat the shit out of you, too?” Ian asked, clenching his jaw.

Cas shrugged, “Granted, he got a little rough—”

“A _little_ rough?!”

Castiel gasped and kicked out his legs, flattening himself against the headboard when Ian surged forward, grabbing him by the upper arms before dragging him to his feet. Crying out, Cas tried to pull away, dropping his weight and digging in his heels, but Ian only spun him around, wrapping his arms around Cas’ chest, lifting him up and all but carrying him into the small bathroom. “No!” Cas cried, kicking furiously, fingers scrabbling against the doorframe as he passed it, and he managed to hold on for a moment, at least until Ian turned around, pulling him into the bathroom backwards and plopping him down on his feet in front of the mirror.

“Stop,” Cas pleaded, closing his eyes tight and trying to turn his head, but Ian had him boxed in against the sink, using his superior weight and size to pin Castiel’s hips to the porcelain edge. He whimpered, trembling as Ian grabbed his chin none too gently and forced him to look at himself in the mirror, and when he loudly demanded it, Castiel reluctantly opened his eyes.

“Look at yourself!” Ian roared, shaking Cas’ chin roughly in his grasp, only letting go when Cas let out a pained sob, his fingers white knuckling around the rim of the sink, “Look what he did to you! Jesus Christ, why are you letting him get away with this!?”

Slamming his palms down against the sink, Cas met Ian’s eyes in the mirror and shouted back, “Because I told him he could!”

“No.” Ian wheeled Cas around, crowding him back against the sink as he looked him in the eye, cradling his injured face in both of his palms, “This isn’t okay, Cas. You agreed to have sex with him, but you didn’t give him permission to beat you, right?”

Cas shook his head.

“And after he started ‘getting rough’ with you,” Ian asked, “did you tell him to stop?”

Cas bit his lip and nodded.

“And he didn’t?”

“You _know_ he didn’t,” Castiel snapped.

“You know agreeing to have sex with someone isn’t a binding contract, right? Someone taught you that, right?” Ian asked, and his expression crumpled at the look of confusion on Cas’ face, “Oh god, you—you’re allowed to change your mind, especially if they’re _hurting_ you, man! You said no, and he forced himself on you. There’s a _word_ for that—”

“Stop it,” Cas said, and with both forearms he pushed out against Ian’s wrists, breaking his hold and ducking out of his grasp. He walked away from him, scrubbing at his good eye with his palm as he stumbled over to his bed, rounding it so it stood between him and Ian, who was following behind.

“He raped you,” Ian stated, straight faced and to the point as he stood on the opposite side of the bed, staring intently at Castiel, who turned his back, “He held your face against that wall, and he _raped_ you, just because he could.”

“Stop,” Cas said again, not a demand, but a quiet plea as he dropped his head into his hands, his voice shuddering.

But Ian would not be dissuaded, steamrolling onward, either oblivious to or uncaring of Cas’ obvious distress. “And now you’re letting him off the fucking hook? Why would you _do_ that?” he demanded, “He deserves everything he did to you and more! He’s a fucking sack of shit, a waste of skin, he shouldn’t—Cas, c’mon. How can you let him get away with this?!”

Cas spun around, his face red underneath the savage bruising and tracked with hot, angry tears. Ian jumped back with a start as Cas screamed at the top of his lungs, deafening in the small cabin, “Because I can’t stand it!”

Ian snapped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw as Cas wrapped his arms around himself, gripping the sleeves of his sweater tightly and sobbing. Huge, wracking cries shook his whole body and Cas curled in on himself, holding on for dear life against the resulting shockwaves of each sob, his face contorted in absolute agony.

“Don’t,” Rick called, grappling Daryl as he tried to pass him on his way to Castiel, before Daryl had even realized he’d moved, “there’s nothing you can do, man. This is a memory, it’s already happened.” Both hands on Daryl’s shoulders, Rick sighed and looked over at Castiel as he broke down, sounding more like a wounded animal than a man, and said, “You can head outside if you need to. I actually think that might be best.”

That was the last thing he wanted to do, though. He shook his head vehemently, knocking Rick’s hands off his shoulder and covering his eyes with his palms. He could do this, he told himself as he leaned back into the wall, exhaling shakily. “I can’t leave him,” Daryl murmured, dropping his hands to his sides, “and I know this ain’t real, that it’s the past but still, I’m seeing it now. Its happening now, and the least I can do is… stay.”

Rick nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line and he joined Daryl, leaning against the wall and jamming his hands it his pockets. “I won’t mention this, either,” he said, “to Cas, I mean. I won’t mention I ever saw this.”

“I think he’d appreciate that,” Daryl agreed.

“Cas,” Ian said, drawing their attention back to the anxious mess Cas had turned into, bent nearly in two as he tried to get his breathing under control, “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling—”

“No, you can’t.” Castiel snapped at him, looking up at him with red, watery eyes, managing to glare even with his left eye so swollen, “I can’t even _think_ about it. And yet, I can’t _not_ think about it. I got back here this morning, and saw the mess, the hole in the wall and I just started… I couldn’t stop feeling it, Ian. It wasn’t even thinking anymore, it was like I could feel the way he held me. I could feel him shove my face through the wall, I could feel how I dug my knuckles into the wood to distract me from what was happening, and I just started _screaming_. I thought the whole camp might have heard me, but I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t make it stop and I _wanted_ him to stop, I wanted him to—I just wanted…”

Cas clapped a hand over his mouth with a desperate noise, staring wide eyed and panicked at Ian, as if he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth. Ian mirrored his expression, his posture, standing hunched forwards, his immense shoulders bowing, one hand hovering over his mouth and his eyebrows pinched into a tight, pained look of pity and horror.

“It’s like the only thought in my head, all the time. I need to fight not to think about it, to keep my mind blank and I’m so exhausted, but if I let up for just a second, its like it’s happening all over again.” Dropping his hand to his side, Cas looked exhausted as he shuffled over to the bed, sitting down gingerly with his back turned. “And I just keep thinking,” he said softly, looking down at his hands as they lay limp in his lap, “what if I wasn’t so sick? What else could I have done to get him out of here? How else could I have fought, how else could I have dissuaded him? I was too sick to push him off, but maybe… maybe I could have bitten him? Or if I had tried to get my hand away, maybe I could have fought dirty, pulled his hair, jammed my thumb in his eye, but would that have worked? Or would it have just made things worse?”

Ian sat down behind him, not saying a word.

“And then I think, well, what did I say? What did I say to make him so angry? Why did he need to _hurt_ me, if all he wanted was to _fuck_ me? I mean, I offered, didn’t I?” Cas huffed incredulously and shook his head, “He called me all these awful things, and he was so fucking angry. He hated me and I don’t understand _why_. What did I do? What did I say, to make him want to—why did he hate me so—”

“Cas,” Ian interrupted, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and Cas looked back at him, glancing over his shoulder with upturned eyes, “it wasn’t you.”

Cas scoffed.

“You didn’t do anything, and there was nothing else you could have done. It was him,” pointing at the window, to somewhere beyond the cabin, he said, “He’s a fucking psychopath, and _he_ made the decision to do this to you based on whatever fucked up shit was going through his head. You did _nothing_ wrong.”

“Then why do I feel so horrible?” Castiel asked, “Why do I feel like this, like everything is foggy but clear at the same time? Like I can’t catch my breath? Why can’t I stop _thinking_ about it?”

“You’re traumatized,” Ian said, shrugging his shoulders, “Same thing happened to me when I came back from deployment. It’s normal, its… its how the brain deals with stress.”

“When’s it going to stop?” But Ian couldn’t answer him. He grimaced and looked down at the bedspread, rumpled beneath his folded legs and Cas asked, quieter this time, “Is it ever going to stop?”

“Eventually. Not right away, but over time you’ll get back to normal. It’d help if you’d stop pumping yourself full of drugs, but…” tapping his fingers on his knees, avoiding Castiel’s imploring gaze, Ian jittered uncomfortably, caught between trying to comfort Cas and telling him the truth, “I get it if you need to cope right now. When you’re better you should start running again. I found that exercise helped to keep me in the moment, when I felt myself drifting away.”

“So, this is just another thing he’s done to me.” Castiel sat back with a huff, “Another thing I’m shackled with, and he—”

“He doesn’t have to, Cas.” Grabbing Castiel’s hand, Ian held it tight between his two large palms, “He doesn’t have to get away with this.”

“I can’t face him. I can’t even leave my cabin, Ian, I can’t.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to, because I will. I promise you, man, if Porter and Dean don’t do anything? I will.” Ian tapped Cas’ chin, tilting his head up and ducking down, looking him in the eye as he swore, “I’ll get that motherfucker. You have my word.”

“What does it even matter?” Cas asked, inhaling sharply, lower lip quivering, “What good will it do if this is all we have? This is what we do to each other, right? The human condition, we hurt and break down, and hurt others in return. We have no control over anything, and any allusion that we do is a lie.” He broke into a low sob, and Ian reached out to him, pulling Cas against his chest when he cried, “I never thought, in all my years watching, that humanity could feel like _this_. I never realized how the cruelty in you could crumble your goodness into dust!”

“It’s not all bad, sugar,” Ian said, running his large palms down Castiel’s back, shushing him soothingly, “you’ve just had a rough go at it, so far. But you’re a better person than you give yourself credit for, Castiel. You deserve more than you think, if you would just—start being _nicer_ yourself.” He rested his chin on top of Cas’ head, burying Cas’ face against his chest, “We’ve got enough enemies in this world, you don’t have to be your own worst one.”

Rick didn’t look at Daryl as he kicked off the wall, and for that, Daryl was grateful. He just went about the room, silently shoving the shower curtain aside (now a plain beige instead of the gaudy thing that was hanging there in previous memories, covered in yellow ducks and perturbed red fish) to reveal a metal door, dug in against the back wall. Even when Rick held the door open for him he looked away, keeping his eyes on the uninteresting hardwood floor as Daryl passed him by, stepping into the black, swirling miasma and praying to whatever God might still be out there that they were done with that terrible cabin, that room of tortured memories.

He was eternally thankful that Rick, in his quiet, understanding benevolence, didn’t watch him cry. 

* * *

 

They entered the courtyard from Cas’ cabin, walking through the bead curtains in the opposite direction as they followed Castiel out onto the porch. He looked better. Granted, he still looked tired and sick, and he was just _so_ thin, but overall, he looked stronger. Determined, like he was done taking anyone’s shit and on guard, his walls up so high it was a miracle he could see outside of them at all.

They followed behind him, let him lead them to the memory, Rick still uncomfortably silent and Daryl wiping roughly at his eyes, when Castiel stopped abruptly. He stood helplessly at the edge of the porch, exhaling slowly as he stared into courtyard… as did Daryl and Rick when they saw what gave him pause.

It was Ian, the name they had only just put a face to in Castiel’s last memory, hanging from a rope around his neck.

He swung gently, back and forth, spinning slowly as if to give the small congregation of people in the courtyard a fair and equal view of his black and blue face, of his broken bones and the sign around his neck that read “INSURGENT.”

“He was dead before they hung him,” Rick said, tapping Daryl on the shoulder and pointing to Ian’s body, “look, they slit his throat. They hung him just for the hell of it, those sick fucks.”

There was a small commotion at one end of the clearing, and Daryl spotted Dean, standing in front of his cabin with his hand over his mouth, staring in shock. He snapped out of it quick, barking something to the woman standing half naked in his doorway, waving her inside and storming off to another group of men (soldiers, if their fatigues were anything to go off of), brushing past Chuck and a skinny blonde man on his way, who were both hurrying towards Castiel.

“Cas,” Chuck said as they approached, winded from running across the courtyard, “I’m so sorry.”

Out of everything Cas could have said, murmuring, “It doesn’t matter,” was not what Daryl would have predicted. He was crying silently, just a single tear rolling down his cheek, the only indication of his loss on his expressionless face.

It took Chuck by surprise, too. “What?” he asked, certain he must have heard incorrectly.

“None of this matters,” Cas repeated, shrugging his shoulders, “We’re all going to die here, like Ian. Like Yeager. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, Castiel,” the blonde man said, a heavy Russian accent slurring the vowels of his name together, “’Since mankind's dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. We've seen where their way leads, through camps and wars, towards the slaughterhouse.’” Cas looked at him, confused as Sasha leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Leave. As soon as you can. Take what you can, and get the fuck out of here before it’s too late. You can be better than what this place has made of you.”

Cas watched silently as the blonde man walked away, and Chuck huffed, throwing his hands up before heading over to the group of soldiers, who were now arguing loudly with Dean. Turning to head back into his cabin, Castiel parted the curtain, holding clacking beads against the doorframe when he paused, looking over his shoulder into the courtyard. He smiled sadly and he said, “Baruch dayan ha'emet,” before letting the curtains fall shut behind him.

A harmony of shocked gasps and sickened moans sang across the courtyard as he left, onlookers horrified to see Ian’s corpse twitch to life, gurgling through the gash in his throat and struggling against his noose.

* * *

 

Walking through the bead curtains one last time, Rick and Daryl exited through a trunk in a tree, on the outset of their campsite in the quarry. It was hot, middle of the summer with the sun beating down on them, and Cas was glistening with sweat, his hair matted to his forehead just from walking along the trap lines. Though it seemed he didn’t notice any discomfort, being too enamoured with the scrap of paper in his hands, lost in thought as he meandered through the woods, reading something with a silly grin on his face.

Completely unaware of his surroundings, he didn’t notice when Daryl (not him Daryl, but the _other_ Daryl, the memory) cut out through the trees, breaking into the path Castiel was walking with his bow drawn and a line of rabbits and squirrels hanging off his shoulder. Noticing Castiel immediately, and his apparent distraction, past Daryl rolled his eyes, walking up to Castiel quietly (though Daryl remembered he didn’t mean to; it was just habit) and tapping him on the shoulder.

The instant his hand brushed his shoulder, Cas dropped the scrap of paper in the leaves underfoot as he pulled out his blade, spinning on his heel and lunging at his unknown assailant. The whole thing took Daryl by surprise, who found himself pinned to a nearby tree with a blade at his throat, his crossbow falling from his shoulder and hitting the ground with a loud thump, as did the squirrels strung over his shoulder.

“Woah!” Daryl said, holding his hands up in submission, and Cas exhaled a shaky breath, looking absolutely mortified, “Alright, we surrender!”

“Oh, fuck,” Cas stuttered, immediately stepping back and letting Daryl go free, holstering his blade, “Daryl, I’m so sorry! Shit, I wasn’t paying attention, and I thought you were a—I don’t know what I thought you were, but clearly not _you_ , or I would never have—”

“Cas.” Daryl raised both palms, taking a tentative step towards Cas just to make sure he wasn’t going to spaz out on him anymore than he already had, “Cas, stop. Breathe, okay? I’m okay, no harm no foul. Just don’t do it again.”

Castiel glared at him, “Maybe make some noise next time.”

Daryl shrugged, leaning down to pick up his days catch from the ground, “Would that I could, but it’s more instinct than habit at this point.”

“I guess if it keeps me fed,” Castiel said, passing Daryl his crossbow with a shy smile, "then I shouldn't complain." 

“Squirrel ain’t hardly a meal,” Past Daryl took the proffered bow, a light flush stealing across his cheeks.

“You two were like teenagers with a crush,” Rick elbowed Daryl in the ribs, grinning cheekily when he was told to shut up.

“It’s a better meal than I had for long time out on my own.” His past self scoffed, and Cas rolled his eyes, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said, “Besides, I happen to think you like it.”

“Like what?”

“Being a provider,” he said, following along when Daryl rolled his eyes and started to walk away into the trees, “Keeping me fed and taken care of, making sure I’ve got everything I could ever need.”

“You need more than a squirrel every now and again.” Daryl called over his shoulder.

“Stop that,” Castiel placed a hand on Daryl’s arm, urging him to stop walking, to turn and face him, “You do more for me than anyone ever has, even though you don’t need to—”

“Don’t need to?” Daryl interrupted, raising an eyebrow, “You forget to eat almost daily—”

“—and I’m grateful.” Cas said, steamrolling over top of Daryl’s interjection, “You can stop pretending its not a big deal, and you don’t have to put up a front. Not with me.”

Daryl looked like he was going to argue, taking a deep breath before thinking better of it, and letting it out with a hard done by sigh. Nodding his head, he turned to keep walking, heading back into the brush, supposedly with Castiel in tow, who followed along at his heels like he was just happy to be there at all. That is, until he realized he was leaving behind his scrap of paper and ground to a screeching halt with a startled gasp.

Running back to where Daryl had first met up with him, Castiel dropped to his knees, digging through the leaves as Daryl struggled to catch up, having pulled his knife at the sound of Cas’ hasty retreat, expecting a walker or something sinister. Daryl squinted through the hazy afternoon sun, just to be certain of what he was seeing, that he wasn’t imagining Castiel digging through the dry old dirt. Putting his knife away, Daryl walked up beside him and asked, “You lose somethin’?”

“Your note from this morning,” Cas said, brushing twigs and leaves out of the way and kicking up dust, “I dropped it here, but I can’t find it…”

“It’s a scrap of paper,” Daryl said, his exasperated tone at odds with the fond grin curling at his lips.

“I didn’t finish reading it, I had only just got the chance—”

Daryl grabbed him by the wrist, interrupting his rant as he helped Cas to his feet. Looking warily over his shoulders, certain no one was around to see them, Daryl led Castiel into the woods, stopping behind a large elm that hid them from sight of the camp. “What are you doing?” Castiel inquired, smiling as Daryl crowded him against the tree, going willingly and allowing himself to be led backwards until his shoulders were pressed into the thick trunk. Running his hands up Daryl’s chest, Cas tilted his chin up, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into kiss him, but Daryl pulled back, keeping Castiel’s against the tree with a hand to his chest.

Confused, Cas relaxed into the trunk of the tree, watching Daryl’s expression intently as the other man ran his fingers up the side of his throat, and skirted his knuckles down the sides of Castiel’s cheek. Daryl didn’t touch him, not in the way he’d anticipated… just a passing glide here and there along his features, mapping out the shape of his lips with the pad of his thumb, of the point of his chin with the back of his hand. He studied him intently, his gaze soft with affection, and Castiel fidgeted under his consideration, blushing hotly as he looked away, at anything other than Daryl.

“’He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun,’” Daryl said softly, his fingers trailing from Castiel’s temple, down the side of his face and over his cheek, “’yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.’”

“Anna Karenina,” Castiel smiled, his cheeks still flushed, “That’s what you wrote?”

Daryl nodded, finally leaning down to kiss him, but this time it was who Cas stopped him, two fingers pressed to Daryl’s lips. “‘Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,’” he said, stumbling over the borrowed words as he attempted to put them in the right order, “‘in pain and sickness it would still be dear.’”

Daryl smiled against Castiel’s fingertips, a real smile, not just a tight quirk of his lips and Cas was overjoyed, snatching his fingers away and looping them around Daryl’s neck as he pulled him in. Arching his back, shoulders scraping against the bark as Daryl wrapped his arms around his waist, Castiel sighed contentedly as they kissed, a slow and gentle exploration.

This had been when they were still new and different. So much of themselves was unknown to the other, and the curious hesitancy in their touch was almost comical to the real Daryl, suddenly a fly on the wall as he watched his past self fall in love with Castiel all over again.

His past counterpart broke away, nuzzling along Cas’ temple and pressing a kiss to Cas’ cheek as the other man leaned into him, his eyes closed and expression content, as at ease and happy as Daryl had ever seen him. “’Each time you happen to me all over again,’” Past Daryl proclaimed, and Castiel’s eye’s fluttered open, bright and wondering.

Cas turned his head, nudging Daryl’s nose with his before kissing him again, breaking away only to say, “’I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.’”

Daryl pecked him on the lips, cupping his face in both hands and staring him in the eye. “’But I love your feet, only because they walked upon the earth, and upon the wind, and upon the waters,’” his past self whispered, so quietly into the space between them that if Daryl hadn’t remembered exactly what he’d said, he’d not have heard it at all, the words meant for Cas, and Cas alone, “’until they found me.’”

Holding on to Daryl’s wrists for dear life, Cas looked up at him longingly, biting his lower lip as he thought long and hard, mulling through every word of every story, every poem he’d ever read, deciding hesitatingly on, "’Journeys end in lovers meeting…?’"

Laughing, Daryl dropped his head, his face flushed. “You’re good at this,” he said, kissing Cas once more on the nose before pulling away.

Cas shrugged, “You’re better.”

With a shake of his head, Daryl attempted to turn, hiking his bow up onto his shoulder but Cas caught him by the wrist, shyly tugging him back. Daryl quirked a brow but went willingly, allowing Cas to guide his arm around his waist, making a small sound of understanding when Cas grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Cas kissed him like he was drowning, and Daryl was the air he needed to breathe. It was still hesitant, still searching but there was a burgeoning comfort there, something growing underneath the pulse of desire and the ebb of inhibition.

“Early days?” Rick asked, politely looking away and pretending to be more interested in the twigs under his boots.

Daryl, the real Daryl, hummed his agreement. This had been a month since they’d met each other, and one, maybe two weeks since they first kissed. Since then they had kissed countless times, touched in a million different ways, but it was still new. And it was fascinating, watching himself and Castiel interact in the third person, to see how much had changed between them without his knowing. He never realized when their kisses had become comfortable, less about learning and more about being. Nor did he notice when their touches became less insistent and more meaningful, simple little changes that said more than just “I want you,” or “I need to have you.”

When his past-self pulled away they were both breathless, hopeless as they stood in each others’ arms. But the spell couldn’t last forever, and Castiel, who was about to speak, was suddenly interrupted by the cracking of branches from the direction of the camp.

Daryl jumped out of Castiel’s reach, scurrying a good distance away, faster than a startled rabbit, nervously running a hand through his hair as he glanced nervously towards the camp. Cas, on the other hand, dejectedly leaned back against the tree. He pointed to a squirrel that had fallen out of a nearby tree, hurt and rejection oozing from him like a slowly bleeding wound.

It was just some dumb squirrel, Daryl remembered thinking in that moment. Some stupid squirrel who lost its footing and fell, but he’d thought it was someone from camp, and he was so petrified they would find him with Castiel that he’d dropped him like hot coals. His past self bit his lip as he looked at Cas, brows knitting together in a guilty expression. It was enough to merit a passive shrug from Castiel, who was trying to brush the whole thing off like it was nothing. But it wasn’t, and past Daryl shook his head, reaching out a hand to Cas and letting it hover in the air between them, an offer and an apology, should Cas wish to take it. Cas looked at him, down at his hand, and then back up again, considering him for a long moment before taking it with a small, sad smile, tangling their fingers together.

Daryl heaved a sigh of relief and tugged Cas to his side, looping his arm around his shoulders and kissing him on the temple. “Cas…” he murmured, and though Castiel tried cut him off with a shake of his head, Daryl pressed on, “I’m sorry, I’m trying but—”

“Daryl, I know.” Castiel turned his head, catching his eye as he said, “I’m not going to lie and say that being your dirty little secret is all fun, all the time but I'd rather have you, baggage and all. I’m forever thankful I decided I was ready to die that day in the woods. If I hadn’t, I’d never have met you and I’d never have gotten the chance to change my mind.”

But Daryl wasn’t convinced, “You don’t deserve to hide away, just because I can’t stand to be seen.”

“You can. You are. I see you. I want to see all of you, if you’ll let me. And if I must wait until you can be who you really are in front of a larger audience, then I will.” Castiel nudged him in the side with his shoulder, “No matter who you need to be, or how long you need to pretend, I’m just happy to have known you at all.”

Daryl smiled.

“I’m happy to know you, too. Dork.”

The trees rustled overhead as they walked further into the woods, the sound of animals and cicadas buzzing grounding the real Daryl who watched them go, until Rick gave him a hard shove. “What the hell?” he asked, confused as he turned to the other man, and while Rick didn’t look angry, his lips were pressed into a thin line, and the look he gave Daryl wasn’t at all playful.

“You’re an idiot,” Rick said.

Daryl waited for an elaboration that never came.

Instead, Rick started scanning their surroundings, looking for their way out and leaving Daryl standing there, in the middle of the path with his hands out at his sides, wondering what just happened. “I—what?” Daryl stammered, gawking as Rick just kept on ignoring him, pausing for a moment to study a section of the wooded ground that looked lighter than all the rest.

“You’re an idiot,” Rick repeated nonchalantly, crouching down and brushing some of the leaves out of the way, his eyes lighting up when he found a cellar door underneath, “You put the both of you through hell by hiding your relationship from us, and for what? We all found out eventually, and none of us cared.”

“It’s not that fucking simple!” Daryl snapped, “I know it was wrong, and I’ve apologized. I’ve made my peace with Cas and now its done. I can’t go back and change it.”

“I just don’t understand why you were so scared in the first place, I mean, it’s not like Merle was around.” Rolling his eyes, Rick went back to uncovering the trap door, “Who did you think you needed to hide it from? Did you honestly think we’d have said anything? Or, or tolerated anyone acting in anyway homophobic towards the two of you? Because I would never—”

“It weren’t about that, man—” Daryl sucked his teeth, jamming his hands in his pockets, “It had nothin’ to do with all of you, and everything to do with me. You think I liked hiding it? It fucking killed Cas every time I pulled away, made him feel like shit, like I was ashamed of him, and after _everything_ he’s been through— all you’ve _seen_ him go through…”

“Then why did you?” Rick asked, and a cautious glance told Daryl he wasn’t taking the piss out of him. He was honestly curious, no ill intent beyond his own lack of understanding, and Daryl looked away with a sigh.

“Let’s just say,” Daryl muttered, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt and studying it intently, “that if you took a walk around inside my head, you’d find a lot of memories that are very much the same as the ones we’ve just seen. Just without angels and shit, and a slightly different context, but the feelings were the same, you know? And just like Cas, that kind of… trauma, that doesn’t just go away. It just changes you, sometimes without you even knowing. It did with me.”

“It wasn’t even a fear of being caught,” he admitted, “it wasn’t a fear of anything in particular. I was just afraid. Being—the way that I am has been like carrying a dead mans switch my whole life. My daddy woulda killed me if he knew. Merle knew, and while he usually left well enough alone he’d have killed me too, if I did anything about it. Any friends I had would have as well, because you just don’t _do_ that shit where I’m from. And I spent my whole life, man, since I was a kid around Carl’s age, just pretending. Keepin’ on this mask and knowing if I ever took it off, I’d wind up dead. Or, more than likely, someone I cared about would be.”

“So, in your own weird way you were…” Rick tilted his head to the side, squinting, “trying to _protect_ Cas?”

“Against a threat I knew wasn’t there, yeah.” Daryl huffed a laugh and shook his head, “It sounds stupid when you say it out loud like that, but yeah. That’s what I did, that’s why I did it. And I’m sorry, but I can’t change it.”

Rick hummed thoughtfully, and pulled open the trap door. “You know,” Rick said, as Daryl stared warily at the staircase leading down through the forest floor, “You don’t ever have to worry about that shit while I’m around.”

Daryl looked over at him, eyebrow cocked.

“I mean it,” Rick said in his defense, clapping a hand down on Daryl’s shoulder as he tried to walk past him, down the set of stairs, “I know I messed up. I should never have turned my back on Cas, but like you, I was scared. My world’s been upended on me, and while that’s no excuse, I can’t turn back the clock. All I can do is say I’m sorry, and I can’t promise I won’t ever be angry with him again… but at least I can say that I will never call your feelings for him into question. Never again.”

Daryl bit his lip, and nodded.

They entered the next memory without another word spoken between them.

* * *

 

When Daryl walked through a loose wall panel into a familiar, simply decorated sunroom in an old cabin, his breath hitched in his throat.

“Where… is this?” Rick asked, looking through the floor to ceiling windows, out into the quiet night sky. It had been a cold night, Daryl remembered, but it was clear and the moon was unnaturally bright. He could see every star in the sky, and he and Cas had spent the majority of that night watching satellites whiz by, comparing their knowledge of constellations, Daryl’s acquired from books, Castiel’s from watching them live and die.

“When we were in Warm Springs.” Daryl said, walking through the dark room that was lit only by starlight, to where Cas and his past self sat on the floor, leaning back against the couch, “We stayed at—" 

“The Little White House,” Rick finished for him, chuckling, “my God, we took Carl here with his school once… you stayed here?”

“Yup.” Daryl nodded, rounding the sofa and looking fondly at Castiel.

This was one of Daryl’s favorite memories.

Cas and his past self were sitting in the sunroom of the Little White House, on their second nights stay. They had been watching a rainstorm through the glass, when it suddenly cleared, and Daryl had immediately snuffed out every candle they brought with them so they could watch the stars. They started on the sofa, but it had proved much too small to accommodate two full grown men, and they’d migrated to the floor, splitting a bottle of wine and a smorgasbord of candy they’d picked up at the gas station earlier that day.

Almost ethereal in the moonlight, sipping wine straight out of the bottle, Castiel had looked gorgeous that night. His blue eyes were alive with mirth as he threw his head back, laughing uproariously at something Daryl’s past self had said, something inconsequential that Daryl wished he could remember. He was in baggy sweats and a plain black sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Daryl could see motor oil and dirt, smeared in small streaks up his forearms and caked underneath his fingernails, from when they’d been digging through shelves at the mechanics. He was relaxed, bedraggled and scruffy, but more beautiful then than Daryl had ever seen him before, and there was something about the easy way he leaned into his past self’s side that pulled at Daryl’s heartstrings.

The evolution of their relationship, between this memory and the last, was evident in the tranquil way they thrived together. Castiel in the real world, surrounded by the other members of their group, was a ball of hyper active energy, rolling through a thousand and one thoughts a minute, taking on every job he could to make their lives easier, and hiding the darkest parts of him out of sight. This Cas, here in this space with just the two of them, was almost serene, happy to just breathe the same air as Daryl, glad for their nearness and content to be silent in it.  Daryl, in the real world would never talk so freely, or laugh so openly. This Daryl that shared Cas’ space smiled, _really_ smiled, in a way that the real Daryl didn’t think he ever could. He spoke more, shared more about himself and commanded the room. He was the focus, the center of Cas’ attention and he came alive under his affectionate scrutiny.

They were so much better together then they ever had been apart. And yes, in the grand scheme of things, they hadn’t been together that long. They weren’t like Lori and Rick, married since 17, or Hershel and his wife, who had been together till the day she died. They had only known each other a few months, but it felt like a lifetime already. It felt like they had been put on earth with half a life lived, each holding onto one piece of a whole and not knowing why they didn’t seem to fit, until they found each other.

Meeting at the end of the world probably helped with that. Not knowing if that moment was going to be your last together, it made the times spent with one another more impactful. Daryl had come to the terrifying realization, as he had been dragging Castiel down the Gahuti Trail, beaten to a bloody pulp by that wendigo, that Castiel could very well die at any second. One misstep, one small mistake and he could be gone, swept off the face of the earth as quickly as he had entered into Daryl’s life.

It was the moment he realized he wasn’t ready to let go yet, and that he wanted more from this strange man than just a surface friendship. He wanted a chance to get to know him, to appreciate him and learn to love him, and he had been willing to fight for him. Then and now, it was the fire in his veins, his desire to keep Castiel alive, to have more sweet moments on the floor of abandoned buildings, more books and poetry, and sweet contemplations on the life span of stars.

With a sigh, Daryl sat down on a nearby chair, his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, as he studied the moonlight in Castiel’s eyes, and the unabashed affection in his past self’s tender gaze.

“If Gabriel was living down here with pagan gods, pretending to _be_ a pagan god for centuries,” past Daryl said, pausing to take a swig of wine, gripping the bottle gingerly by the neck, “how did no one ever realize where he was? Can’t y’all sense each other? I thought you had a hive mind.”

“Powerful warding? Ancient spell? He held his breath for hundreds of thousands of years?” Cas shrugged, looking up at a smattering of stars through the skylight, “I don’t know, I was just a regular angel. I have no idea how archangels work, and don’t profess to know the limits of their power.”

“I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that Gabriel, messenger of God, came down to earth to live with humans…” Daryl blew out his cheeks in disbelief, “just so he could _fuck_ with them.”

“If you’d met him, you’d understand,” Cas said with a smile “He was just that kind of guy.”

Daryl hummed in agreement, “Merle was that kind of guy.”

And then they fell silent. Daryl but at his thumbnail, stopping and starting as he tried to speak, but whatever it was he wanted to say, he struggled to get out. Cas shifted closer, one elbow resting on the seat of the sofa, supporting his head with his fist and he reached out with the other. “You don’t have to say anymore,” Cas said softly, cupping Daryl’s cheek in his palm, steering his lips away from his poor thumb to look him in the eye.

“You just spent hours going through your gigantic, heavenly family tree with me,” Daryl said.  

“Because I wanted to. Because I was comfortable doing so, and because… with most my brothers and sisters? There’s no animosity or ill will. We’re separate and estranged, entirely different species now but none of them were cruel, or abusive. I don’t have horrible memories about them, or the people around them… save, maybe Michael and Zachariah.” Cas shook his head, grabbing the wine bottle from Daryl’s hand and sipping it gingerly, “But that’s beside the point. I don’t need to know about Merle, or your mom or dad, not now and not ever, if it’s something you don’t want to touch. If you want to bury it, forget it ever happened, and you can do that without endangering yourself? Go ahead, please. I know what it’s like to have something, people, whole periods of your life, that you’d rather pretend never existed.”

“Like the Winchesters?” Daryl asked, watching as Cas tipped his head back, wine bottle to his lips, and took a large gulp.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Cas muttered, “And everything about Chitaqua.”

There were a thousand things left unsaid, and Cas fell very quiet as he stared down the neck of the bottle. Not pressing, and not willing to pry, Daryl leaned forward and kissed his forehead, considering the matter closed. “I figure we’ll leave early tomorrow,” he said, grabbing a handful of Mike & Ike’s and dumping them into his mouth, “Get on the road by sunrise, that way we can get home and settled with enough time to give Rick and Hershel an update. They’ll wanna to know about those folks we almost ran into on the road, and how difficult it was to drive down here.”

Castiel nodded, peeling at the label on the bottle with his fingernails, lips pursed and wearing an inscrutable expression. “Hey,” Daryl said, waving his hand in front of Cas’ face and drawing his attention, “are you okay?”

“I... just have a headache,” Cas lied through his teeth, not looking Daryl in the eye as he spoke and picking at the tacky glue on the bottle, left behind by label that was being scattered in pieces to the floor. He clearly didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, and Daryl remembered not needing to know.

Cas always got down on himself when he brought up the first camp he lived in… and now, the real Daryl knew exactly why, in grave detail, where before he only had vague references and assumptions. But even though he didn’t know the specifics, his past self also had horrid memories that he’d rather forget, and he knew better than to pry. “Take off your sweater and sit up,” past Daryl said instead, chomping down a mouthful of candy and waving him around.

Arguably confused but not mistrusting, Castiel did as he was told, pulling the sweater over his head and turning his back to Daryl, shivering in his light cotton tee. Sitting cross-legged behind him, Daryl pressed in close, his hands on either side of Cas’ neck as he massaged his thumbs into the nape of his neck. Castiel’s reaction was instantaneous, and with a gratified moan he instinctively dropped his head, chin to chest as Daryl worked his strong fingers into the back of Cas’ neck, and up underneath the curve of his skull.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, rocking in time with the motion of Daryl’s hands.

“Helping with your headache. My mom used to get awful migraines, ones that would lay her up for weeks, and the only way she could fix it was like this.” Daryl rolled his thumbs in small circles down the sides of Cas’ neck, and back up into his hairline, “She had a friend who used to come by every few weeks, and mom’d trade her a carton of cigarettes for a half hour.”

Cas hummed contentedly. “How am I supposed to pay you, then?” he asked, “I've been stealing your smokes for months now.”

Daryl laughed and dipped his head, nosing along Cas’ hairline and pressing a kiss behind his ear. “This one’s on the house,” he said, “just ‘cause I like you.”

“How generous of you,” Cas smiled, his own hands curled in his lap as Daryl moved on from his neck to his shoulders. “Did American’s still trade goods for services a lot, before the world ended?” he asked seemingly out of the blue, looking over his shoulder and forcing Daryl to stop his impromptu massage.

“You’re the one who watched us for centuries,” Daryl said with a shrug, “you tell me.”

“I wasn’t watching your methods of commerce, especially not in America,” picking at a loose thread on his tee-shirt, Cas said, “But some cultures still do… or did. I just wasn’t aware it was still a common practice in America.”

“It can be, with people you know, I guess.” Daryl acquiesced, working his thumbs into a particularly tough knot in Cas’ shoulder, “But it’s not like you could walk into a store and trade your crap for theirs, or pay for a tank of gas with a pair of shoes, you know?”

Cas nodded, “You’d use paper money for that.”

“Or plastic.” Smoothing his hands down Cas’ back, Daryl let him go for a moment to take a swig out of the wine bottle, “But, if you were like us and you didn’t have much money, you needed to get creative. My mom used to roll cigarettes and sell them on the sly, or trade ‘em for things we needed. My dad used to be in construction, before he got laid off and he’d fix people’s homes up for favours. And then he had that still in the garage.”

He paused mid gulp, the wine bottle pressed to his lips when he realized he’d just (willingly, mind you) brought up his parents in casual conversation. This had been one of the first times he’d ever really opened up to Cas about the kind of life he led when he was a boy, and deciding he’d already gone so far, what would it hurt to tell him just a little more? Placing the wine bottle on the ground, Daryl turned his attention back to Castiel, gently squeezing his shoulders as he asked, “Wanna hear about where I lived?”

Cas looked over his shoulder at him warily, and nodded.

“Remember that shack out in the woods, where the Djinn was holding me?” Castiel nodded again, “Take that, and move it to the north-eastern end of the Appalachians, and that’s basically where I lived. And I mean, add a bedroom or two off it, a shack where my daddy used to keep his still, and some counters in the kitchen. We were poor, but we had some shit at least.”

Daryl wound his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling him against his chest and hooking his chin over Cas’ shoulder. "Used to be my old man’s hunting cabin, but we moved out there after my mom died,” he said, “Lived there ever since, hunting in the woods and living off what I could find. Merle would bring shit up when he could, and we’d make some money doing odd jobs at the trailer park five miles over. Didn’t have a real job or nothin’, but I made due. What was your home like?”

The question seemed to take Cas by surprise, and he jerked forward a little bit, sitting up straight but not pulling free of Daryl’s arms. “In Heaven?” he asked, then hummed under his breath, relaxing back against Daryl’s chest, “As an angel, I spent most of my time in Mount Celestia, out of necessity. It was the homeland, our base of operations, and all Heavenly order came through there. I learned to fly on the mountains of Arcadia, and I remember countless times spent with Balthazar in the Elysian Fields. Though, if I’m being honest? The place I felt most at home would have been Ysgard. The denizens there respected only the glory of heroic, individual struggle, and they prized bravery, inspiration and creativity above all. I think my time spent there actually led to the beginnings of my doubt.”

Daryl frowned, his arms winding tighter around Cas’ waist, “It’s fucked up that thinking differently is all it took to get you kicked out of Heaven.”

“It was more than that,” Cas said, turning around and resting sideways against the couch, his head pillowed in his arm atop the cushion. He grabbed Daryl’s hand, running his thumb along the lines of his palm before pressing it to his cheek. “And if I’m being honest?” he leaned against Daryl’s palm, a slow smile twisting at the corners of his mouth, “The time I’ve had with you? Has been the furthest thing from a punishment.”

Daryl chuckled, stroking his thumb along Cas’ cheek, indulging in the way Cas turned his face against it, nuzzling into his palm like a contented cat. “You’d be singin’ a different tune if Merle was still around when I found you,” he said, “Before all this, I was an asshole. You just caught me at a moment of weakness.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Cas said with a grin, and Daryl snatched his hand back to give him a playful shove, “but you wouldn’t have liked me as an angel, either. I was cold and calculating, incredibly ignorant to the intricacies of human communication… Dean used to call me a dick with wings.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Cas smacked him in the center of his chest and Daryl laughed heartily, moving closer instead of pulling away.

“Let’s say that I was never an angel, though,” Castiel said, his voice softer than before as he looked down at his folded legs, curled underneath himself as he perched in their small nest of blankets, “That I was always a human, born and raised. Let’s say we met before half of the earths population died and the world as we knew it fell apart. Despite you being an asshole and me being dick, what would we be doing right now?”

“Not sleeping in Eleanor Roosevelt’s bed, for one.”

“Well that’s a given,” Cas said, rolling his eyes with a playful huff, “but where would we be instead? Where would we live?”

“We’re already movin’ in together?” Sipping from the wine bottle, Daryl cocked a brow, “Ain’t we gonna talk about it first? Before you start moving your shit in and taking over my bathroom?”

“So, we’d live at your place then?”

“No, not there.” Daryl said, and there was no room for argument. Sighing, he leaned back against the sofa, rolling the wine bottle in his hands and staring up through the skylight, “We’d have our own place, I guess. Small, not in Georgia by no means and still off in the country, but nicer. Close enough to town that we could work. Big enough for the two of us, nothing fancy, but nice, you know? Not a shack, but a real home.”

“What would we do?” Cas asked, wistfully watching Daryl’s profile as he leaned his chin in his hand.

“I could fix bikes, and cars. Always used to be good at it, and Merle taught me everything he knew. I’d want to get a real job, something steady. I wouldn’t want you livin’ in a house that we didn’t come by honestly, I know you’d hate that.” He shrugged, and turned to look Cas up and down, thinking, “You? I think I could see you working in a used bookstore or somethin’, or a library. Somewhere quiet, where you could read all day long, and get to talk to people about the books you like. You’re a bit of a weirdo, but you’re friendly enough, I think you’d be good at it.”

“We could have a garden out in the front yard, and a bedroom, with a real bed.” Cas said, distantly looking past Daryl, lost to his own imaginings.

“We could get a dog,” Daryl murmured, biting his lower lip, “I always wanted a dog. And one of those big showers.”

“We could get married.”

Daryl shot him a skeptical look.

“Really,” Castiel said, meeting his gaze, “we could. That was legal, right?”

“Not in Georgia. Least I don’t think it was.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we wouldn’t be living in Georgia. Besides, I don’t have a last name, not really. And I’d need one to work, I think.”

“Castiel Dixon?” Daryl mulled it over, “I guess that’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

Castiel grinned, laughing as he asked, “Are you saying you’d marry me, Mister Dixon?”

“I would.” Castiel’s breath hitched at the gravity in his voice. Daryl turned fully, shifting to they were sitting face to face once more as he said, “In a heartbeat.”

“Oh,” Cas shifted as well, his eyes wide as saucers as he pressed closer to Daryl’s side, reaching out blindly as he stared at Daryl’s face and grappling for his hand, “Even if I was a dick angel, who never learned how to be human, with crippling PTSD and annoying addictive tendencies?”

Daryl nodded. “Even then,” he said, twining his fingers with Cas’ “That is, if you could stand me being a redneck asshole with a bad temper and the mother of all daddy issues?”

“Always could,” Cas breathed, squeezing his hand tightly, “always will.”

The silence was deafening, the candles blown out and the wind long gone, and not even the sound of the crickets in the woods could penetrate the tense anticipation that hung between them as they watched each other in the moonlight. Daryl bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he waited for something to happen, for Castiel to give him some indication of what just happened. It seemed as though Cas was at a similar loss, unsure of how to proceed, until finally he ducked his head and smiled, glancing down at their joined hands before looking up at Daryl with a pleading, upturned gaze.

With only a quirk of his lips as he cupped Cas’ cheek, Daryl leaned forward, hesitating before kissing him as cautiously as he had their first time. He exhaled softly, trembling as Castiel’s chapped, wine stained lips swelled against his, plush and yielding as Daryl slid his hand down Cas’ neck, his pulse hammering against Daryl’s palm. Castiel whimpered against his lips, sucking his lower lip between his own as he slid his hands up to Daryl’s shoulders, urging him closer.

The real Daryl stood abruptly, grabbing Rick’s arm and blushing furiously as he tugged him out into the dining room. To his credit, Rick didn’t say a word, and politely averted his eyes on their way out, even as Castiel moaned softly and climbed into his memory's lap.

“Don’t mention that either,” Daryl said, poking Rick in the chest once they were safely in the other room, “you didn’t see shit.”

“Sure,” Rick held his hands up in front of him, smiling as he stepped back and let Daryl start the search for their way out, “but can I at least say that… these past two memories? I don’t know if you noticed, but they were the only ones where Cas actually smiled.”

And Daryl hadn’t noticed that, but now that Rick had mentioned it, he was right. Every memory prior to them were miserable and dark, edging on the end of the world or some perceived, critical failure in Castiel’s being that he was being reprimanded for. But the two memories with Daryl were sweet, and kind. They were happy memories, ones that stuck out to Daryl as he also held them close to his heart. “Why would be go through these memories, when all of the ones before this were so horrible?” Daryl asked, finding their exit behind the portrait of Roosevelt in the corner of the room.

“We’re still working under the assumption that Cas is using his memories to decide whether he should live or die, right?” Rick shrugged, “Maybe those were all the reasons why he shouldn’t, and these one with you were why he should?”

“I hope not,” Daryl murmured, “because if so, the odds are clearly not in our favour.”

“We’ll get him out of here,” Rick promised, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, “I promise, and I mean it. After seeing these past few memories, if there is anyone who can convince Cas he has something to live for? Its you.”

Daryl nodded slowly, ushering Rick through the door.

* * *

 

They emerged into a wide, green field. It was sunny, warm and bright, the garden surrounding them immaculately cared for, and across the grass there was a man in a red sweater is flying a kite all on his own.  

“We’re in Heaven,” Daryl said, answering Rick’s question before he could ask it, “Or a version of it, at least. Cas told me that when we die, we all get our own, personalized Heaven. We can’t leave it, but angels can move through them freely. This was Cas’ favorite, the ‘eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953.’”

“Huh,” Rick looked around, taking in the cool spring breeze and squinting against the overbearing sun, “Where’s Cas though? It’s his memory, shouldn’t he be here like all of the others?”

Cas’ voice drifted over to them, as if in answer to Rick’s question. And though they had heard his voice in every single memory so far, this one was different in that it was so distinctly familiar. Instead of the gravelly, stern voice of the man in the trench coat, the crackling timbre of the drugged-out hippie or the multi-faceted choir of the angel, Daryl immediately recognized the voice of _his_ Cas. And when he turned, whirling around so fast he kicked up the freshly cut, green grass underfoot, he found his Castiel sitting on a stone bench not five feet away, at the edge of a pond and looking out across the waters surface with his head in his hands.

“So, that's everything. I’ve gone through all of it, over and over again and still I don’t understand,” Castiel said, his shoulders slumping forward as he spoke aloud towards the pond, “I believe it's what you would call a... tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Rick asked, frowning. Daryl hushed him, waving his hand to shut him up, as Cas answered for him.

“I'm asking you, Father. One last time,” he sat back and looked up at the sky, “am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? Why am I still here, and why did you bring me back? Why am I alive? What am I supposed to do for them that I haven’t already, and what am I doing wrong?” Cas huffed and shook his head, “There have been so many times I felt I was being fucked with. Left behind to flounder because this is what I deserve, this is my penance but… I just don’t believe that anymore! I’ve been as close to human as I can get for almost four years, and I know now that nothing is decided. There is no cosmic reward or punishment, no divine plan. Shit just happens, and you learn to live with it.”

“He’s praying,” Daryl said softly, holding on to Rick’s arm to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

“But this is happening? Right now?” Daryl nodded, and Rick gestured towards Cas with an open palm, “Aren’t we supposed to be collecting him? Why are we waiting?!”

Daryl didn’t have to say a thing, as Castiel threw his hands up in defeat, slapping them back down on his knees as he called out to his father, “You have to tell me what you want!” He looked upwards desperately, “because I just don’t know anymore. I don’t know if falling was the result of my actions, or if it was all Lucifer. I don’t know if I’m being punished for what I did, or rewarded. I don’t know if you’re even here, or if you left a long time ago.”

“I’m giving you one last chance to give me a sign. You have to give me a sign, because if you don't… I'm gonna just—” Cas cut himself off with a curse, wiping hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand, “I'm not going to punish myself any more. I’m so tired, Father. I’m sick of feeling worthless, and I am done suffering to appease a God I’ve never seen! Who has never, in my whole life, my entire existence even spoken to me! Who has torn and twisted and tortured me beyond the pale, and who has never given me anything! Who has never so much as told me _why…_ why I’m _here_!”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I want to be happy. I want to go home and be with Daryl, who I love more than I’ve ever loved anyone else, even you. And who loves me, too.” Looking down at his hands, Castiel said, “I want to be with my family, if they would even have me back, knowing what I’ve done. I want the chance to explain myself to them, to tell them my story, as I’ve just told you. I want the chance to earn their forgiveness, however long that takes. And I want to accept Balthazar’s help, to survive. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to believe that I should, after everything that I’ve done but… I’ve followed your orders for so long. I’ve lived under the guidance of your firstborn sons, and yes, I’ve rebelled. I’ve kicked, screamed and fought along the way, but for a long time I listened. Not because the order came from Michael, Raphael, Anna or Zachariah… but because they came through them, from you. I’ve always wanted to be a good son. That was always my ambition, my goal.”

“But I don’t want that anymore,” Cas spat, standing abruptly from the bench and shouting up towards the sky, “I don’t want to be a good son to a father who couldn’t give a shit! To a father that is more than likely dead! I want to be a good _person_ , not because you will it, or want it, but because it’s the _right_ thing to do. And if I fuck up along the way, I will learn. I will be better for it. Because whether I am or not, I was always meant to be human.” Running a hand over his mouth, he said, “I was a terrible angel. I think you know that, too, because you made me wrong on purpose. You may work in mysterious ways, but you don’t make mistakes. If I came off the line with a crack in my chassis, it was because you wanted me to. And I am sick, and tired, of being your experiment!”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, Castiel pleaded, “Tell me now, Father! Or I will do— whatever I want to. Because I fought, and lost so much, for my freedom. And I fucking deserve it.”

As Cas fell silent, all three men held their breath, straining to hear an answer. Castiel was breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling with each exhale, and his fingernails bit into the calloused flesh of his palms as he waited, hoping against hope that his father would deign to answer him, for once in his life.

But predictably, there was no answer. And after a long moment of nothing, Castiel slipped to the ground, falling to his knees in the muck and dropping his head in his hands. Whimpering behind his palms, Castiel knelt there pleading, sobbing for a father that he’d never even seen and this time, Rick didn’t stop Daryl when he rushed forwards, dropping beside Cas and pulling into his arms.

Cas looked up immediately, struggling against Daryl’s hold until he realized who was holding him. He looked startled, staring at Daryl with a mixture of relief and confusion, gripping at Daryl’s shirt to keep him close, even as he tried to pull himself away. “What—” he asked, stunned, “what are you doing here?”

Rick moved forward before Daryl could answer, crouching down beside the two of them and placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder to draw his attention. “Cas, I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing tightly as Castiel frowned at him, untrustingly pulling away, “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, and for being so angry with you. It wasn’t right to judge you so harshly without knowing why you did what you did, and I know the others will see it the same way.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Castiel asked, shaking his head, “Of _course_ you should be angry with me, I—I destroyed your world! And then I kept it from you for months! I ate your food and shared your company, I mean, I should be the one apologizing to you, not the other way around.”

“You did it for us,” Rick said, and Cas pulled away from Daryl to give Rick his full attention, “If Lucifer and Michael had fought they way they were supposed to, we would all be dead. Wiped from the face of the earth in a heartbeat, and there would be nothing we could do about it. But because of you—”

“Wait, how do you know all of this?” Cas asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“We had to find you,” Daryl said, “When Balthazar said you weren’t letting him help you, I had to come in after you. We trailed you through your head, Cas. We saw what happened with Lucifer.”

Castiel paled. “Then I definitely don’t understand how either of you could forgive me after seeing all of that,” he said, his voice hitching, “I ruined everything. I was too proud, too headstrong to see that what I was doing was wrong. I thought I was saving people, but I could never hold a candle to Lucifer’s power. I was an ant who thought himself a lion, I—I was a fool.”

“That’s _why_ I can forgive you,” Rick said, giving Castiel’s shoulder a little shake, “You tried so hard. Since you were a child you stood up for us, fought against your brothers and were belittled for us. You fought against everything you were taught to believe, you were cast out of paradise because you couldn’t stand for a single human life to be lost.” He looked Castiel in the eye, “Thank you. Thank you for giving my son the chance to grow up, for my wife and I the chance to watch him. For giving us a chance to _fight_.”

“Stop it,” Cas pleaded, “Stop, please, how can you even talk like this? How can you thank me, after everything—”

“Enough,” Daryl snapped, grabbing a hold of Cas’ other shoulder and shoving it backwards, forcing Cas to look at him, “enough of this self-flagellating bullshit! You made a hard choice, but we would rather be here, on earth, _alive_ and fighting to stay that way then _dead._ You can’t change the past Cas, even if we wanted you to.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Daryl cupped the side of Cas’ neck, “Please, I’m begging you. I can’t keep fighting for you if you aren’t willing to fight for yourself. This insistence that we _can’t_ forgive you? It’s just you being unwilling to forgive yourself. Stop being your own worst enemy. You really want to make amends?” he asked, and Cas nodded, “Then start by treating yourself right. Forgive yourself. That’s all it’ll take.”

“You’re our family,” Rick added, and both Cas and Daryl turned to him, “both of you are. We may not have started out that way, but we are now, and you don’t give up on family. No matter how badly they might have fucked up. Now we’ve both had our rough turns, and we’ve both tried to bail, but not anymore, alright?” Castiel nodded again, and Rick patted him on the shoulder, “Good. Now, we’re going to need you to say yes to Balthazar and get us the hell out of here, so we can get ready for what’s gonna happen next.”

Castiel frowned, “What does that mean?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Daryl asked.

“A flash of light,” Castiel said, looking down at the ground beneath him, “My grace returning. Then horrible, crippling pain, like my—” he gasped, and looked up suddenly, “my wings?”

Daryl flinched, unable to look away as Cas stared at him pleadingly. “Daryl,” Cas said softly, digging his fingers into his knees as he leaned forward, “what happened to my—"

“They’re gone,” Rick answered for him, standing up and wiping the dirt off of his knees, determinedly not looking at Castiel as he spoke, “I’m sorry, but you were dying, and the only way to stabilize you was to cut them off.”

“Oh,” Cas exhaled slowly, absently skirting the tops of his shoulders with his fingertips as he looked down at the ground again, “I didn’t know…”

“Cas,” Daryl said, grabbing one of his hands, “if there was any other option, I would never have done it.”

“No, it’s…” he trailed off, shaking his head and to Daryl’s surprise, he actually laughed. It was a small little thing, but he sounded relieved as he stood up from the ground, pulling Daryl up with him. “It’s fine, it’s actually kind of a relief,” Castiel said, trying to smile through the palpable heartbreak, but there was a glimmer of truth to his words, “I’ve felt, all this time, torn between two places but now… to know for certain that I will never be a part of the host again, its almost… freeing. Final.” He schooled his expression, wiping at his eyes with a sense of finality and asked, “Now tell me, what are we dealing with when we get back?”

“Asmodeus,” Daryl said, and Castiel instantly froze, his eyes widening with shock, “Lucifer told him to come take care of you, after you almost smited Mephistopheles. According to your brother, he picked the whole farm up and stuck it inside a pocket dimension in Baator. He’s waiting to see if you’ll die on your own, and if you don’t, Balthazar believes he’s just going to collapse the whole dimension.”

“And what does Balthazar plan to do about that?” Castiel asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, “His plans are notoriously risky, you know. He’s not fond of forethought.”

“He’s going to tear a hold through the dimensional wall, and we’re going to drive through it.”

“That’s his plan? It’s suicide.” Castiel scoffed, “We’re literally in the lion’s den, and he barely has the power to hold open a rift that size! If he gets distracted, or attacked, we could end up stuck between worlds! We could be crushed to death by the dimensional gate! We’d never make it.”

“I guess that means we could use some of that angelic faith right about now,” Rick said.

Castiel shook his head, “I haven’t had any left for a long time.”

“Jesus, Cas,” Daryl groaned, running a hand over his eyes before sitting down on the nearby bench, and tugging Cas down with him. Cas came willingly, albeit a little flustered, and Daryl waved Rick aside before turning his full attention to Castiel. “Listen,” he said, grabbing both of Cas’ hands in his, “Mine may not have been an all powerful, all knowing God, but I happen to know a thing or two about deadbeat dads. And I know that, no matter how much time, effort and love you put into them, sometimes, they just aren’t able or willing to give back. And that doesn’t say anything about you. It says everything about them.”

“Forget your dad,” he pleaded, holding Cas’ hands tight, “and do what you need to for yourself.  Stick to your goddamned word, stop beating yourself up and come home with me. You’re free, its what you fought for and unfortunately, freedom and doubt are a package deal. But even though you don’t have a God, or an asshole older brother to put your faith in anymore, that doesn’t mean you can’t _have_ faith. Trust _yourself_ , and your decisions again like you once did—”

“How can I ever trust myself again, when I’ve messed up—”

“Everyone messes up. It’s part of the human condition! Baby, you’ve fucked up royally once, but since you’ve been with us? You’ve made the right call, every single time. You’ve trusted your gut, we’ve been better for it.” Daryl brought Cas’ hands up to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently as Castiel watched him with those incredible eyes, the same ones he thought he might never see again, and said, “If you still ain’t sure? Then trust _me_ to help you when you stumble, because I will. For the rest of our lives and as long as you want me, as long as you’ll let me. I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me, I’ll hold you up when you can’t stand on your own and I will always have your back. You’re not fightin’ on your own anymore.”

“Daryl,” Cas murmured, and Daryl held his breath, watching uncertainty and determination play across his features, and he let it out in a slow, relieved exhale when Castiel smiled softly, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said, taking Daryl by surprise as he leaned forward, capturing his lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

“Y’all can do that to your hearts content when we’re back in our bodies,” Rick said, giving the bench a swift kick, “but we ain’t got the time. We need to split.” Hands on his hips, he looked down at Cas expectantly, and asked, “you ready?”

Castiel set his jaw and nodded, taking a deep breath before answering, “Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes used, in order of appearance:
> 
> V for Vendetta - Alan Moore  
> Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy  
> Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë  
> The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton  
> A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens  
> Your Feet - Pablo Neruda  
> Twelfth Night - William Shakespeare


	35. Hit the Ground Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the last chapter! There will be an epilogue, in about a week when I get back from vacation, and then three time-stamps and a sequel to look forward to. The sequel has been in the works for some time now, and is being written as we speak, so I am INCREDIBLY excited to get started on it. There is some heavy handed (in my opinion, at least) foreshadowing of the second installment in this chapter, so keep your eyes peeled for hints on the next, new drama ;)
> 
> I want to apologize for the delay between updates lately, law school is kicking my ass this semester, but! I am going on vacation, so there will be plenty of relaxing/writing time I hope. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of this installment, and it may feel a little unfinished, but as I said there will be an epilogue coming :) I was also thinking of splitting this fic up into two (Chapters One to Twenty-Two will stay as one fic, and the Chapters Twenty-three to this one will be another), and would like your input! I this this is too long as it stands now, and the Chapter Twenty-Two has a nice, organic end to it... plus, the focus shifts there from the burgeoning Dariel relationship to the group learning/coping with the supernatural... but I'm still not sure. So if you have any opinion on it either way, please let me know! I would love to hear from you!
> 
> Anyways, I've rambled enough. Thank you so much for sticking with me on this long (SO LONG) piece of fanfiction, and for making my foray back into fandom an enjoyable one! I've loved and appreciated every one of your comments, and hearing from you has consistently made my day. You are the reason I kept going with this beast, and will keep on going into the second installment, so much love to you all!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this last chapter! And I hope you stay tuned for the next installment/time-stamps!
> 
> xoxox

The first thing Castiel felt when he awoke were his lung aching, filling with air as he sat up straight and gasped like he’d been drowning. He filled them to the brim, till he felt his chest would burst, till his ribs creaked and groaned against the pressure. His eyes shot open, watering at the sudden onslaught of light, and his breath rasped in his dry throat on the way down.

The second thing Castiel felt was pain.

The air he inhaled so desperately was expelled from his lungs in a single, violent rush, his sore throat constricting defensively as Castiel sputtered and coughed. Everything hurt, from his scalp to his toes, throbbing with a sore ache, his skin cold though he felt on the inside he was burning. His muscles trembled and jerked, shuddering rhythmically, like one of his onlookers had him hooked up to a car battery. His teeth chattered and he whimpered softly, curling in on himself as his stomach gurgled in an odd combination of hunger and nausea, and when someone touched his back he gasped, instinctively pulling away.

“Come now, Cassie. Pull yourself together, is that any way to greet your favorite, long lost brother?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Cas grit out through clenched teeth, and through the overwhelming burst of sensation he couldn’t help but grin. Squinting through the too bright candle light, he looked up at Balthazar, who was sitting at the foot of his bed, sipping amber liquid from a glass and looking very different from the last time Cas had spoken to him. “I hardly recognize you,” he quipped, shaking his head and wincing when a sharp jab of pain shot up his neck, “though I guess you can say the same to me.”

“Yes, well,” Balthazar looked down at himself, raising a brow, “I had to dress this one up a little. When I found him in his backwoods little cathedral, he was all drab and dour. First thing I did was go on a bit of a shopping spree.”

“That poor, poor man,” Cas said, laughing despite himself, “Is he still in there?”

“Yes, and he was more than happy to stay that way when all hell broke loose. Literally.”

Cas smiled sadly, “Michael told me you had died. That when you tried to run you were caught, and they executed you on the spot for abandoning your post. I grieved your death, brother.”

“That’s the shitty part of faking your own death,” Balthazar said with a sigh, reaching over to awkwardly pat Castiel on his blanket covered knee, “You can’t pick and choose who knows the truth, and who doesn’t. But I’ll admit, I had tried to keep an eye on you. Checked in on you, now and again, though the apocalypse has made it much harder. I wish I could have done more for you, after you fell, but I—"

“You’re an angel on earth, where there shouldn’t be anymore angels. I understand,” Cas leaned back against the headboard, grunting when the slight impact jarred his bones, “Helping me would have stuck a giant target on your back, and then where would we be?”

“Not here, that’s for certain.”

“I’m sorry Balthazar,” Castiel said, frowning and closing his eyes as he tried to get his shaking limbs under control, “I made a real mess of things, down here and in Heaven. I don’t even want to know the chaos I’ve caused upstairs.”

Balthazar hummed, and the bed gently shook, rocking along as he nodded his head. “It has been chaotic,” he admitted, “or so I’ve heard. Though not in the way you’d expect.”

Curious, Cas cracked open his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“Well, when you took it upon yourself to stop the prize fight, the rest of Heaven learned what the higher-ups plan was all along. They were still operating under the assumption that they had done all they could to avert the apocalypse, you see.” Castiel squinted, tilting his head to the side as he didn’t quite follow, his mind still foggy and trying to catch up. “Your rebellion brought to light that Heaven had deliberately let all 66 the seals be broken, because they wanted Armageddon,” Balthazar explained patiently, “and—let’s just say, it didn’t go over well. Raphael has banded together a small host of loyalists to defend the throne, but there is an even larger force amassing, that is threatening to take it out from under him. One that wants to implement a new regime, to take over Heaven and remake it, the way it was supposed to be.”

“You’re talking about a coup…” Castiel said, wide eyed with shock, his fingers curling in the blankets, “a civil war.”

“Yes. They’re bringing down the old, corrupt monarchy and in its place, they are building a new Heaven.” Leaning forward, Balthazar clasped one of his hands over Castiel’s and gripped tight, looking him in the eye with a smirk as he said, “A _better_ Heaven.”

“I can’t believe…” Cas shook his head, his pulse racing, “how did they even…”

“Well, you're the one who made it possible.” Balthazar stood up from the bed, downing the rest of his glass in one swig before walking towards the dresser, where a bottle of scotch sat uncapped, “The footsteps they’re following are yours. What you did, mucking up the big plan? You did more than rebel. You tore up the whole script and burned the pages for all of us. It's a new era.” He spoke enigmatically, his whole body moving as he poured himself another drink, wearing a proud, rebellious grin, “No rules, no destiny. Just utter and complete freedom.”

Castiel couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t tamp down the swell of pride that flourished in his chest fast enough. “And this is what they do with it?” he snapped, replacing it with condemnation, “Lock themselves away behind the gates of Celestia, squabble amongst themselves while the earth burns?! There are people down here! People dying while Lucifer walks free!”

But in the face of his ire, his brother was (typically) nonplussed. “Hey, you’re the one who asked for freedom, Castiel. Freedom to do as you wished, and they are doing the same. The nasty part about freedom though, is you can’t tell people what to do with it.” Balthazar shrugged, sitting back down at the foot of the bed, “This is what they chose. And I mean, screw it, right? Dad's not coming back, Michael has been despondent since you crippled him during his big moment, Raphael is barely holding it together and Gabriel’s dead. All the big players are KO’d, so you might as well blow coke and jump on the bed.”

And for once, Castiel didn’t have the will to argue. He was right after all, and Cas was so exhausted, his eyes straining to stay open. He sank back against the headboard, his arms like lead weights at his sides and he slumped into the mountain of pillows underneath him with a sigh. “Thank you,” he murmured, smiling up at his older brother, who smiled back just as fondly.

“Don’t mention it,” Balthazar said, downing his second glass and standing once more, tossing the cup into the air and snapping it out of existence, “Now, I believe we need to get a move on. Get your things together, get dressed and then we’re gone, alright?”

“Bal, this plan of yours, it isn’t—"

“Stop that right now. You’ve always lacked the one thing we’re supposed to be known for… have _faith_. I’ve gotten us out of many a bind before, haven’t I?” Castiel raised a brow at him, though his expression must have fallen flat because Balthazar just laughed. “Trust me…” his brother said, “this one’s gonna be good.”

“Oh, before I forget!” Balthazar snapped, and turned back around to the bed, pointing at either side of Castiel, who gasped when he realized Rick and Daryl were there. Rick was slumped in a chair beside the bed, and Daryl was passed out at Cas’ side, breathing shallowly and still unconscious, “I have to bring these two knuckleheads back from your head, don’t I?”

Before Cas could give him shit for being so careless, before he could even form a single word in reprimand, Balthazar clapped his hands twice, and both Rick and Daryl sprung to life, their eyes flying open and gasping for breath, just as Castiel had. Rick slouched forward, his head between his knees as he panted, trying to catch his breath and Daryl laid still, his eyes wide as he scanned the room, his gaze finally landing and staying on Castiel.

Balthazar was gone in a heartbeat, snapping his fingers with a knowing grin and popping back into existence somewhere outside of the bedroom, if the shocked screams were anything to go by. Rick groaned, stumbling to his feet, wavering in one place until he got his bearings. “Fuck, it is way too bright in here,” he mumbled, flicking out the overhead lights and snuffing out the candles as he walked the perimeter of the room. He made it to the door without another word, and paused with his hand on the knob.

“Rick,” Castiel said softly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark of the room, “I want to apolo—”

“Nope, stop,” Rick held up one finger, shaking his head and shutting Cas right up, “enough apologies, they ain’t necessary and they ain’t worth shit. You want to make it up to me?” He pointed towards Daryl who was still staring at Castiel like he was the first and last thing he might ever see, “Start by consoling him. He was one crisis short of a heart attack before we went on that spirit quest through your brain.”

“Hey,” Daryl grunted, tearing his gaze away from Cas to glare at Rick through the murky dark, “I held it together just fine.”

“Yeah, well… fine ain’t great, now is it?” Rick shrugged, turning the knob and cracking open the door, all three men wincing when the light from the hallway stung their eyes. “It’s good to have you back Cas,” he threw over his shoulder, walking out the door with a curt nod towards Daryl before letting it slip shut behind him.

The second the door clicked shut, Cas catapulted himself into Daryl’s arms, ignoring his aching muscles as he topped onto him, pinning Daryl back into the mattress. Daryl’s arms winding tightly around Cas’ waist, his fingers grappling against his bare back, he buried his face against Castiel’s neck, clinging to him for dear life as he wrapped Cas into a bruising hold.

Daryl buried his face against the side of Cas’ throat, breathing in Castiel’s scent as his pulse beat against Daryl’s cheek, affirming he was really there, really alive. Cas wasn’t sure if Daryl realized he was crying, hot tears sticking to Castiel’s bare skin as his breath puffed against Cas’ shoulder, but he was, and Castiel held him back, as tight as he could manage. He gripped his shoulders, knotted his fingers into the back of Daryl’s shirt, and peppered the side of his face with barely-there kisses, pouring into them all the strength he could possibly muster, even as his exhausted body protested.

With a surprised grunt, Castiel soon found himself on his back, pinned beneath Daryl’s form as the other man flipped their positions, kissing down the side off Cas’ neck. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, running one hand down the side of Castiel’s face almost reverently, and Cas’ heart broke when their eyes met.

He looked exhausted, the dark circles underneath his eyes visible even in the dark. His cheeks were flushed and damp, though that was to be expected, and he bit his lip hard to keep from sobbing out loud. Relief seemed to seep through his every pore, his shoulders slumped as he hovered over top of Castiel, his fingertips skirting every inch of Cas’ face, as if to make absolutely certain he was there. Cas reached up with a shaking, heavy hand and laid it over top of Daryl’s, who dropped his forehead to Castiel’s with a sharp sigh.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Daryl said, closing his eyes and not sounding the least bit angry.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Castiel said, gripping Daryl’s hand tighter, keeping it pressed to his cheek.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“I thought you were going to die,” Daryl dropped most of his weight off to Cas’ side as he kissed his cheek, “I thought you had, for a while there. And then, when you refused Balthazar’s help I thought you were gone for good. You can’t fucking do that Cas! You can’t just clock out!”

“I’m so sorry—”

Pushing himself back up, Daryl grasped his chin and looked Cas in the eye, his expression twisted in grief, “I can’t make it without you, anymore."

Cas shushed him softly, reaching up and pulling Daryl back into him, so he was laying against him. One hand buried in his hair, the other running soothingly down his back, Cas pressed his cheek to Daryl’s temple and breathed deep. He breathed him in, soured by days worth of sweat and neglect, but underneath it all there was still the comforting scent of motor oil and trees, and he let Daryl relax against him. Let him feel the heat radiating from his skin, and listen to the steady beating of his heart. Let him rise and fall with each breath Castiel took, to remind him he was really there. That he was safe, and whole, and alive.

“I didn’t know,” Castiel said softly, nosing at the soft, blonde hair along Daryl’s temple, “I didn’t realize how tenuous I was. I just thought I was hurt. I remember pain. Bits and pieces of pain and consciousness, but I never felt like I was dying. I thought Balthazar was just there to heal me, not save my life, and I needed to—I don’t know.”

What had he been trying to accomplish, really? The whole thing was a blur. He could remember Mephistopheles, spilling every dirty secret he had, in front of the people he cared most about. He remembered feeling defeated, humiliated, questioning his very existence, but then… something inside of him had snapped. It was as if he could see clearly, all at once. It took him facing his worst fear to see the truth, and he had to fight through every memory he had ever wanted to forget to figure out where to go from there, but he did it. And he realized, finally, that all he had been doing was running away.

“I needed to figure out why I was still punishing myself, when there was nothing to be done for it, when it wouldn’t change anything. Was it for my father? Or to make myself feel better? And how twisted is it to think that punishing myself, and in the process, the people who love me, would make me _feel better_?” Castiel said, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke, as Daryl propped himself up beside him and watched him through the dark, “I had to go back. I had to face everything I had been trying to run from to really see the path set out in front of me.”

“And what one was that?” Daryl asked.

“The one where I’m happy, and it’s not a crime. I keep thinking of myself as part of a bigger picture, but I’m not that person anymore. I ceased to be that person when I fell from grace, and now I need to accept that I am, for all intents and purposes, human.” Cas rolled onto his side to face Daryl, dim light feeding through the window and casting them in an eerie red glow, “It’s like Michael said, I’m no longer a part of that story. And that’s okay. That’s better than okay, its… its freeing. It’s the result of everything I fought for, and just because I’m not a key player anymore, that doesn’t mean I can’t still make a difference. I can still help, I can still save people and I can still try to make this world better than it is. I can still try to be a good person, but I don’t have to punish myself anymore. Because I’m not that _thing_ anymore.”

“I’m human, I’m mortal and my life in this world is shorter than it ever was,” Castiel said, running his hand down Daryl’s arm, tracing the curves of his muscles, and when he reached his hand he looped their fingers together where they rested on the mattress between them, “So, instead of punishing myself for the rest of my life, worrying about where I’ll go when I die and all of the shit I can’t change? I want to start _living_ it. That’s the long and short of humanity, right? Taking the tiny amount of time you have, and living it to the fullest? Well, I’ve squandered so much time already, and I’m done just existing. My life has as much weight and meaning as anyone else’s, and I’m going to stop treating myself as dispensable.”

“So that’s it?” Daryl asked, squeezing Cas’ hand tight, “No more death wish? No more putting yourself in the line of fire, just because you think we’re worth more than you? “

“No. I would still take a bullet for any of you, and no amount of near-death experiences are going to change that,” Cas said, bringing Daryl’s hand up to his lips, and kissing each of his fingers, one by one, “But I promise to stop standing in front of loaded guns, waiting for them to go off.”

“Good,” Daryl said, breathing a sigh of relief, pulling Castiel in against his chest, “because I don’t think I could take another night like this… Rick’s right, I _am_ one crisis short of a heart attack.”

Castiel laughed weakly, burrowing into Daryl’s chest and pressing his cheek against him. He could feel Daryl’s heart pounding, a steady thumping that soothed his mind, if not his aching, trembling body. Daryl’s hands on his back, not moving, just holding, were comfortingly heavy, and he was so warm against Castiel’s chilled skin. He could hear every breath Daryl took, and his arm, which was looped over Daryl’s waist, rose and fell with each one.

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t begin to stop the tears that prickled at his eyes when he realized how close he had actually come to leaving Daryl behind. He’d almost died, and the last thing he would have ever said to him was “congregatio.” He sniffled, not even thinking about it before wiping his cheeks on the front of Daryl’s shirt, and he murmured, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Daryl asked.

“For saving my life,” Castiel said, “I don’t know how you managed it, but I am so proud of you.”

He could hear the smile in Daryl’s voice, “You never gotta thank me for that, so long as you stick around to make the most of it.”

“Daryl,” Castiel pulled back, trying to look Daryl in the eye, but the other man didn’t make it easy, kissing a trail down the side of Cas’ face the moment he looked up at him, “I would never willingly leave you behind. You’re the one constant, good thing in my life. No matter where I am, no matter how I feel about myself, that is one thing that will never change.”

He reached up, cupping Daryl’s cheeks and keeping him still. “I love you,” Castiel said, “more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. More than Dean, more than my brothers, more than God. And I will fight till my dying breath to stay with you for as long as you’ll have me, because after however many billions of years, I’ve finally found you. And there’s no way you’re getting rid of me that easy.”

Daryl turned his head, pressing a kiss to the center of Castiel’s palm, “You never gotta worry about that, either.”

Smiling, Cas slumped against his pillows, letting his limbs slacken and his eyes slip closed. He was so exhausted, so bone tired that he couldn’t entertain the thought of getting up and walking around. The ominous red glow that flitted through the curtains should have been enough to get him moving, should have lit a fire under his ass, but he could hear people working outside. He heard footsteps, car doors opening and closing, and Shane’s commanding voice in the living room, barking out orders like an army sergeant. No one had come to collect them yet, there had been no knocks at the door, and he felt safe knowing he could take a moment to recuperate, to quell the burning pit of nausea his stomach had become.

There was a shout from outside, and upstairs, a woman was crying. “How is everyone else…” Castiel trailed off with a frown, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

But Daryl had him covered. “Handling the fact that you were an angel, God and the Devil are real, and we’re currently in the middle of the apocalypse?” he asked, finishing Castiel’s question with a shrug, “About as well as you’d expect.”

“How are you handling it?” Cas asked, chewing thoughtfully at his lower lip.

“Honestly?” Castiel nodded, and Daryl sighed heavily, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Following suit, Cas sat beside him, blankets tangling around his legs as he fought to get comfortable, despite his twitching limbs. “At first, I was so fucking mad at you. All I could think was ‘why wouldn’t he tell me?’ After everything we’ve been through, how could you not tell me?” Daryl tilted his head to the side, watching Cas out of the corner of his eye, and said, “But then you almost died… three times, and I realized that it didn’t matter. Whether you told me or not, it didn’t matter. Whatever your reasons were, however valid or invalid they may have been, don’t matter. All that matters is you’re here now.”

He reached out, taking up Cas’ hand in his again, holding on like he couldn’t stand the scant distance between them. “And from here on out,” Daryl said, “we’re telling each other everything. No more secrets, no more hiding.”

Castiel gulped, gnawing at his lip as though he wanted to chomp right through it as Daryl watched him, the red glow of the unnatural moon illuminating his pensive expression, the severity in his gaze. There was only one secret left that Cas had yet to tell him, and it was one he had only just learned of the other night. After everything Daryl had been through in the past few days, Castiel wasn’t certain if this was the best time to tell him, either. How would he handle learning about the root of his powers, and the implications therein? Could he handle it, at that point in time, or would it be best for Cas to just… keep it to himself, at least until they were back on earth?

No, he thought to himself, giving his head a quick shake and hissing through his teeth when it caused his vision to swim, shooting a jolt of pain through his neck and rousing another roiling bout of nausea. No, Daryl had asked for the truth, had demanded it, really and he was right to do so. Every life or death situation they had ever found themselves in could easily have been avoided just by telling each other the truth, right from the get go. And what was the point of hiding it, when it would just come out in the end anyways? There was never a good time to tell someone their mother made a demon deal while she was pregnant with them, and to keep it from Daryl would only hurt him more in the end.

So, before he could change his mind, Cas took a deep breath, squeezed Daryl’s hand tight and said, “Daryl, you have demon blood in you.”

The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, resounding what felt like hours in which Daryl sat completely still, so quiet that Castiel wasn’t sure he was even breathing. He didn’t dare look over at him, and instead stared resolutely at the array of medical equipment next to the bed, counting the buttons on the ventilator while Daryl sat in stunned silence. The only indication Cas had that he’d heard him at all was the death grip Daryl had on his hand, that was getting steadily tighter, verging on painful when Daryl finally whispered, “What?”

“Mephistopheles told me,” Cas hastened to clarify, lest Daryl get it into his head that he’d kept this information from him the whole time he’d known him, “It’s where your power comes from, the demon—”

“Azazel.” Daryl said breathlessly, and Castiel whipped around to face him.

“So, you heard?” he asked.

Daryl shook his head, “A bit, not all of it.”

He was looking out the window, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he gnawed on is thumb nail, whittling it down to the skin, and though Cas wanted more than anything to pull it away from his teeth, he let Daryl bite away. He could feel how stressed Daryl was, most acutely in his poor, accosted hand, but he didn’t need that point of contact when he could see Daryl’s tense stance, pressing his shoulders into the headboard, his heels digging into the blankets as he waited for Cas to elaborate, to fill in the details he was missing. “Azazel made a deal with your mother before you were born,” Castiel explained, “You were going to die, and she was desperate, so when he offered to save you in exchange for her drinking a bit of his blood, she agreed. He probably tried to trick her, told her he was an angel or something, who knows… but—”

“Why?” Daryl interrupted, speaking through gritted teeth, “Why her? What could he possibly want from her?”

“You.” Daryl finally looked at him, utterly confused and Castiel frowned, running his free hand up and down Daryl’s arm, “He wanted you. Lucifer had asked Azazel to make him the perfect vessel. One that could hold him without burning away, and you were one of his first attempts.”

“Like Sam? He’s Lucifer’s vessel, right?”

Castiel nodded, not wanting to know how Daryl found out that little tidbit of information. “He was Azazel’s final test subject,” he said, “his success. But before him there were others, and before them, there was you. I don’t know how many others there were from your test group, but there were around twenty from Sam’s. Yours was a failure, as the blood diluted through your mother, and you only got a small hint of his power. With Sam and the others, he fed the blood directly to the babies by making a deal with their mothers, ten years before they were even born. You never showed any psychic proficiency, outside of being able to see things that weren’t there, even when he sent Mephistopheles to test you.”

That seemed to give Daryl pause, and he let go of Cas’ hand, swivelling at the waist so he sat next to him, face to face. “Test me how?” he asked.

“The man outside your school? The thing in the woods? Everything that ever scared you as a child, that you couldn’t explain, that was all Azazel.” Daryl clambered to his feet and paced across the room, one hand over his mouth and his back turned to Cas. “He was trying to push you, to see if he could make you stronger by force,” Cas tried to explain, “but when it didn’t work, he gave up. Focused all his efforts on Sam’s group of kids and wrote you off as a failure.”

“Wait a minute.” Daryl held up a hand, “Let me… let me process this. So, you’re saying that my whole life has just been one big fucking experiment?” He turned, a hairs breadth from panic, his nostrils flaring with each harried breath that he took, “That a _demon_ has been fucking with me since before I was born!? And that all this shit—all of—I thought, for years I thought I was just crazy!”

“I know, I—” struggling to sit up, Castiel pulled himself towards the edge of the bed, throwing his legs over the edge of the mattress. He tried to push up onto his feet, but his legs wobbled underneath him, and with an indignant grunt he fell back onto the bed.

Daryl immediately moved to his side, crouching down in front of him and resting his hands on Castiel’s knees. He frowned, looking down at his hands vibrating along with Castiel’s muscles and ran them up and down Cas’ thighs, trying to soothe his shaking muscles. “Cas, are you feeling—”

“No, don’t start that, please,” Cas reached out and cupped his cheeks, drawing his attention from Castiel’s weak legs to his face, “I’m alive, and I’m fine. But I just dropped a bombshell on you, and we need to deal with it.” Daryl paled, and Cas let him go, dropping his head remorsefully, “God, Daryl, I’m so sorry.”

He thought Daryl would have pulled away, but he stayed there, stalwartly crouched on the floor and squeezed Cas’ thighs. “What about my mom?” he asked, “Azazel did something to my mom, right?”

Cas looked away, and Daryl surged upwards, grasping his chin and turning him back towards him. “Cas,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation and Castiel stifled a shivering whimper. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to tell him something he knew would break his heart, but Daryl was literally on his knees, begging without words and Castiel refused to make this about himself.

He reached down and covered Daryl’s hands with his own. “It was his last-ditch effort. His last test to get you to full power,” Cas said, “She died the same way Sam’s mom did, and it wasn’t an accident. He killed her.”

Daryl snatched his hands back.

“No. No, that’s not possible,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and climbing to his feet, “It was an _accident_ , she was just _drunk_.” Cas shook his head and reached out to him, but Daryl swatted his hands aside, backing up out of his grasp, “She was always drunk, and she always smoked in bed, it was an accident!”

“It wasn’t.” Cas looked down at his feet, his bare toes curling in the floral print rug as Daryl struggled to catch his bearings, “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t.”

The clock ticked loudly, or maybe it was just that uncomfortable silence, once again magnifying each second, until they seemed to reverberate against Castiel’s skull. He struggled to keep his eyes open even in the dark, he was hot and cold all over, and he needed to say something. Daryl wasn’t going to. No, he was just going to stand there, the rug torn out from under him, staring at Castiel like he was supposed to know how to fix this. And he didn’t, not by a long shot.

“Azazel is dead,” Cas supplied, a weak attempt at a consolation, but it was the best one he had, “I don’t know if that helps or not, but the Winchester’s put him down.”

“It doesn’t,” Daryl said.

Cas nodded, “I know.”

Exhaling slowly, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist, Daryl slumped down onto the mattress next to Castiel, the springs creaking underneath them. He opened his mouth, his voice catching as he thought about what to say, lips working around nothing as he debated his question, before he turned to Cas and asking, “Does this mean that I’m—”

“No,” Castiel interrupted, “You’re human, you’re not a vessel and you’re not a demon. And even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. Sam Winchester was Lucifer’s chosen vessel, hand tailored to fit him, and his soul was one of the brightest I’d ever seen. You’re a good man who, through horrible circumstances, was given a great gift. You’ve been given power beyond measure, I mean, the fact that you were able to pull Mephistopheles from his vessel, even in part? Sam would have had to chug gallons of demon blood to accomplish that. You’re a force to be reckoned with, but you are also wholly, and completely human.”

Daryl cracked a small smile at that, and Castiel relaxed, the tension that had wound its way through his body dissipating as Daryl pulled Cas into his side. He kissed Cas on the temple, holding tight to his shoulder as he tried to still his trembling, Daryl sighed and asked, “This is a steaming pile of shit we’re in, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Castiel agreed, “looks like it.”

“You think we’re gonna get out of here in one piece?”

“I don’t know.”

“If we do, will you marry me?”

Castiel hummed and nodded, looking down at his hands where they rested in his lap and…

“Wait,” he said, squinting at Daryl curiously, a vicious, hot flush that springing up across Daryl’s cheeks as he resolutely looked anywhere but at Castiel, “What did you just say?”

Stammering, Daryl fished for an answer, his cheeks redder than Cas had ever seen them before as he put some distance between them. His nausea, his pounding head and his achy skin forgotten, Castiel watched with a sense of wonderment as Daryl, for the first time since Cas had known him, was struck absolutely speechless. “I don’t know what— I didn’t, that just kind of slipped out,” he said, running a hand across his mouth, and Castiel’s stomach was suddenly tied in knots again, though not at all for the same reasons as before.

He hadn’t meant to ask it, but he did, and if Cas wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly before, Daryl’s panicked reaction was all the clarification he needed. He’d said it, he’d asked Cas to marry him (for real this time), and as a smile slowly stretched across his face, Castiel whispered, “Yes.”

“I don’t even have anything to give you, and that’s, I mean you’re supposed to give something, right?” Daryl asked, still not looking at him, and Castiel’s answer went unnoticed, lost beneath his ranting, “I can’t just leave you sitting here, and not give you anything, that’s just—”

“Daryl,” Cas interjected, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a firm shake.

That seemed to do the trick, and Daryl turned to him, finally, his eyes wide as he asked, “What?”

“Yes,” Cas repeated.

“Oh,” Daryl said, still frowning, but Castiel sat silent, their eyes locked and eventually, slowly, realization dawned on his face, and Daryl repeated emphatically, “ _Oh._ Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“What, were you expecting a different answer?”

“No.”

“Then yes,” Castiel said, unable to keep from laughing.

“Okay.” Daryl dropped his chin to his chest, grinning widely as he looked down at his feet, flustered and irrepressibly giddy, “Yes, I can—I can deal with yes.”

“I should hope so,” he said, nudging Daryl with his shoulder.

His hand was snatched up immediately, and Daryl shuffled closer, their thighs brushing as they sat side by side. “I can’t give you much,” Daryl murmured, kissing Cas’ knuckles.

“I don’t need much.”

“I can’t promise I’ll always be easy to deal with.”

“Neither can I.”

“I’m going to fuck up, a lot. I’m going to piss you off sometimes, and I _will_ make you cry,” Daryl gripped him tighter, still holding Cas’ hand to his lips as he slid his other hand down Castiel’s wrist, his fingers flitting across his inner arm. He looked up, his jaw set determinedly and Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. “But I swear Cas,” he said, his icy blue stare slicing through the dim, red glow of the moon and piercing into Castiel, whose heart was hammering ceaselessly in his chest, “I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as I possibly can.”

“You already do.” His voice was a breathy little thing, still raspy from disuse and unquenchably dry, but Castiel couldn’t have cared less. He fumbled at Daryl’s forearms, twisting with every ounce of strength left to face him, and he held on for dear life. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, hot and wet, though in that moment he was the happiest he could ever remember being.

It was the strangest feeling, being happy to the point of tears, and it was another he had never truly understood. Cas had only ever felt it once before, on the night Daryl told him he loved him, but this moment gave even that pleasant, treasured memory a run for its money. His pulse sung through his veins, and he felt giddy, blown up like a balloon and threatening to float away. He’d never once thought, not since Warm Springs, when they’d glossed over the topic and refused to speak of it again, that they would ever be sitting there, in that moment, talking about marriage.

There was nothing to be done about it anymore, not in a traditional sense. The US government was destroyed, the church was dead and there was no other institution that could recognise their union, not officially, at least. But they were nothing if not the most non-traditional couple imaginable, and Castiel (as an angel), knew that there was more to marriage than humanity might have been led to believe.

It was a soul bond, a mark upon each person’s most vulnerable self, a claim and a submission to be bound to another for the rest of one’s eternal life. In death, their souls would be tethered, made to share the same heaven, the same space in the afterlife, and where one soul went, the other followed. If a soul bound for hell weighed more than the soul bound for heaven, both souls would be plummeted into the pit, but likewise, if the heavenward soul was heavier than the sinner, they would be absolved and life out eternity in paradise.

It was the ultimate show of trust and sacrifice. And it was also the reason why Castiel had been more than willing to gloss over the topic of marriage in Warm Springs. How could he marry someone, he thought, bind himself to them wholly and completely, when he didn’t have a soul?

But he _did._ If there was one good thing he learned, one life changing piece of information that had come to light within this whole arduous ordeal, it was the fact that he had a soul. Balthazar had confirmed it by needing his permission. If Castiel didn’t have a soul, his brother would have been able to heal him at his own whim, despite what Cas might have wished, but he _couldn’t_. He didn’t know how it had happened, but somewhere along the line, when the angel he was had dissipated, it left in it’s wake a real, human soul.

And now? He could marry the man he loved. He could be with him, in this world and the next, for the rest of their existence, and his whole body thrummed with anticipation.

“Do you know what you’re agreeing to?” Cas had to ask, squeezing Daryl’s forearms and looking into his eyes, “You have to understand, that even before the development of religion, before government sanctions, marriage was, and still is, one of the highest, most ancient of covenants. You will be bound to me, forever. And I mean _forever_ , none of that ‘till-death-do-us-part’ crap the Christians were so fond of. Even when we die, out souls will be linked, inextricably, to one another… so, are you certain that,” he paused, biting his lip, “are you sure you want to be stuck with _me_?”

To his surprise, Daryl smiled, chuckling as he stroked his hands up Castiel’s arms soothingly. “I knew you’d have the inside scoop,” he said quietly, and shook his head when Cas looking at him questioningly, “Never mind. Cas, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it and you don’t have to make it sound like a chore.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back from Cas’ temple, ducking in impossibly close, cupping the back of Cas’ head to keep him still as he kissed him gently, a barely-there graze of his lips. “I love you. I may never have been in love before, but I _know_ that I love you. And I want to be with you, forever if I can. The thought of losing you, of never being able to see you again? It ate me up, it tore me down and I could barely even function. I was worse than useless, and the only thing that kept me going was knowing that we have enough time. I didn’t get to show you half of the shit I want to, I never told you half the stuff I wanted to, and I never got to give you the life I want you to have. I want to take care of you,” he kissed Cas again, and this time, Cas kissed back, his eyes fluttering shut on a soft sigh, the butterflies in his stomach beating down his sickness, enveloping him in a warm cocoon of happy serenity, “I want to keep you safe, and I want to be the kind of man you can depend on.”

“You already are,” Castiel whispered, his voice shaking with emotion as he leaned his forehead against Daryl’s.

“Then I aim to keep it that way.”

Cupping his jaw, Daryl tugged him forward, closing the distance between them. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and Castiel gasped against Daryl’s mouth as he was hauled into Daryl’s lap, straddling his thighs on trembling knees, his hands pressed against Daryl’s chest to keep him upright. Daryl kissed him in earnest, nipping at his bottom lip and Cas exhaled shakily, grimacing before pulling away and clapping a hand over his mouth.

“My breath his atrocious,” he mumbled behind his palms, suddenly conscious of the sour taste in his mouth, the effect of being unconscious and hydrated via IV for days.

But Daryl shook his head, batting Cas’ hands out of the way. “I don’t care,” he said, backing up his claim by sucking Cas’ lower lip between his teeth, laving it with his tongue and Castiel moaned softly despite himself, his fingers digging into Daryl’s chest, “I was so close to never being able to kiss you again. A little bad breath ain’t gonna stop me.” His hands traced down the line of Castiel’s back, sending a different kind of shiver shooting down Cas’ spine, and Daryl asked, “Unless you want me to stop?”

Castiel moved fast, clenching Daryl’s shoulders tight and holding him close. “No,” Cas said, so close their noses brushes when he spoke, their lips hovering just out of reach of each other, “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop touching me.”

Daryl grinned against his lips, and Castiel’s vision spun as he was maneuvered once again, landing on his back against the pillows and the blankets. His legs hung over the side of the bed, and he was still vaguely cognizant of their uncontrollable jittering, but he couldn’t blame himself for being distracted, especially when Daryl was hovering over top of him, his tongue begging entrance to Castiel’s mouth as he ran a heated, open palm down the center of Cas’ chest to his stomach, and back again.

When Daryl pulled back again, Castiel whined out loud, trying to tug him down with a hand on the back of his neck, though Daryl wouldn’t be swayed. In a show of good faith, Daryl kissed along his jaw, through the smattering of dark, day old stubble as he asked, “So… yes?”

Laughing, Castiel turned his head, bumping his nose against Daryl’s and replied, “Yes.”

* * *

 

“What in God’s name are you staring at?”

Andrea shook her head sharply, dragging herself out of her reverie as she found herself in the sights of a very irate angel. A goddamned angel, she thought, a real angel. He had wings, like Castiel’s she figured, though probably a little less broken, and still attached. He had power, enough to bring Cas back from the brink of death, and to snap everyday objects in and out of existence like it was something mundane, like commenting on the weather. Small wonder she had been staring at Balthazar then, since the moment she stepped out onto the porch with her life packed into a backpack, cradled to her chest like a child. He was something she had been refusing to believe could be real, since the moment Shane told her Castiel was an angel of the lord, with a completely straight face.

She’d laughed, then. She’d laughed in his face.

And then Daryl had started moving shit with his mind, and she saw Cas’ wings in the flesh.

She’d had to eat her words then.

This was the first time she’d come down from the attic since Balthazar arrived. She’d been doing a bang-up job ignoring the truth of everything she’d seen and experienced that night, and the implications they had on her worldview, but she still hadn’t managed to drag herself down the stairs and see what was going on. She knew they were leaving soon, and that had been enough to distract her for the time being. But Carol had soon come to collect her, to let her know that Castiel was alive and well, and they were leaving in twenty minutes, and Andrea’s heart had dropped into her stomach.

That meant she had to go downstairs, where the moon was red and the stars blacked out. Where Castiel’s incorporeal wings lay broken and bloody on the floor of the barn, and their cars were set to drive them out of a hell dimension and back onto the I-85.

Downstairs was where the British angel was, too.

And he was the one she was having the hardest time accepting, if she were being honest. Maybe it was because he was alive, moving and talking, whereas all of the other shit that was happening was all going on behind the scenes. Castiel wasn’t an angel anymore, not really, so she could just go on pretending that he was nothing but a normal person (with a few strange proclivities), but she couldn’t do that with Balthazar.

He wouldn’t let her.

The angel was fond of flitting around. He didn’t walk enough, choosing instead to snap in and out of focus, appearing and disappearing across the farm and from room to room in a matter of seconds. He conjured up things they needed out of empty air, and had no problem blatantly abusing his powers for their benefit. He dragged his feet, mind you, to keep up appearances, but he clearly had a soft spot for Castiel, and he would clearly never let him die if he could help it. Which was nice, in that it was helping the rest of them survive as well. She just wished she didn’t have to face him in the process.

“Well?” he asked, squinting at her from across the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, “Can’t you speak?”

She nodded, and then cursed. “Yes,” she said, gripping her bag tighter and hating how weak and timid she sounded, “of course I can.”

“Then maybe you didn’t hear me,” Balthazar leaned up against the railing of the porch, “what are you staring at? Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Right now, my job is getting this bag,” she ducked her chin down to her backpack, then across the field to where Shane was loading a duffel into the trunk of his car, “into that vehicle.”

“Well, I’m no packing expert, but I’m fairly certain you have to be near the car to put the bag in it, correct?” Balthazar chuckled, clearly amused at his own stupid joke, and waved her off absently with one hand, “So get a move on, then. We don’t have all day.”

Andrea huffed, forgetting her fear in a moment of indignancy, and snapped, “You know, for an angel? You’re a real fucking asshole.”

That caught his undivided attention. Balthazar turned to her, his jaw slack and expression stunned, and she backed up quickly, not stopping until her shoulders hit the wall of the house, the canvas of the backpack groaning under her iron grip. Way to go, Andrea, she thought ruefully, her eyebrows knitting together as the angel stood at full height, squaring his shoulders and looking much more intimidating than she had given him credit for. Piss off the all powerful, supernatural being… that should work out great.

She expected him to yell at her. Demand her fealty or smite her, or something.

She didn’t expect him to laugh.

And yet, there he was. All powerful, otherworldly angel of the lord, bowed over in hysterics, howling as he clutched at his stomach. He was tearing up, his shoulders heaving with each bellowing laugh that poured from his lips, and when he finally stood straight, he still didn’t manage to get his breathing under control. He was panting, huffing with a smile stretched across his face, and he wiped away the tears that squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he looked at her. “You’re a ballsy one, I’ll give you that,” Balthazar wheezed, chuckling haltingly and rubbing at his sore stomach, “I can imagine you’re one of Cas’ favorites, yes?”

“He doesn’t have favorites,” Andrea said, eyeing him warily, “we’re not his pets. And no, we’re not really friends. You want his bestie? Go talk to Lori.”

“The skinny brunette with the chicken legs and the stick up her arse a mile long?” Balthazar sneered, and it was Andrea’s turn to be taken aback, a stilted laugh bursting past her lips before she could stop it, “I don’t particularly like that one, though Cassie’s love of her is unsurprising. He always had a soft spot for the ‘holier-than-thou,’ ‘greater-moral-purpose’ humans. I myself found that lot a bit boring. Predictable. You, on the other hand… you’re intriguing.”

“No, I can assure you, I’m not,” Andrea shook her head, and summoning the last of her well of courage, attempted to brush past Balthazar on the way down the stairs. She didn’t make it far, however, as the angel did that thing she _hated_ , flitting out of existence and reappearing inches from her face. “Jesus!” she snapped, shoving him in the middle of the chest and forcing him to back off a bit, “We need to get you a bell, or something.”

“I can assure _you_ ,” he said, ignoring her snide remark and her shove in favour of stepping closer, looking down at her face with such grave sincerity, that Andrea felt her skin crawl with goosebumps, “that you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re flawed…” he waved his hand at her, fishing for her name, which she supplied monotonously. “Andrea,” Balthazar repeated, “Those flaws make you interesting. They make you resilient. You will change a million different ways before the end, you’ll see. And each time, like a phoenix from the ashes, you’ll be stronger than you were before.” He startled her, tapping her nose gently with his knuckles, and said, “So, be afraid of me. Run and hide, and be scared. It won’t last, and you won’t stay that way forever. You’ll eventually run your mouth, and put the things you’re afraid of, like me, in their place. And you won’t be scared anymore.”

“Why are you saying all this?” she asked, trembling. It was like he had read her mind… and she panicked momentarily, not knowing if that was something he could actually do.

Balthazar shrugged. “Because you looked like you needed to hear it?” he said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his too-tight jeans, “And because my baby brother has a soft spot for you, whether you’re ‘besties’ or not. He always has.”

“For me, or humans in general?” Andrea asked.

“It started out as a general affinity, sure,” Balthazar replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “but since he’s been down here with you, its become a little more focused. He cares for all of you on this farm, singularly, not as the sum of your parts.”

“I don’t know why,” she said, hugging her bag tighter, her shoulders tensing, “It’s not like we’re the paragons of our species. We almost executed a kid for no reason, we’ve hurt each other over this whole, awful process and the apocalypse… its been bringing out the worst in us. Some of us almost left him to die, and some would still say we were right to. Even myself, I don’t know—” Andrea cut herself off with a grimace, “I don’t know if I’m even ready to forgive him. Now that I know the truth. And I can’t decide if that makes me a bad person or not.”

“I think that just makes you _people_ ,” Balthazar said, clapping her awkwardly on the shoulder, “and if Cassie has anything, any one quality that lets him stand out amongst the rest, its his capacity to forgive _you_. He has always forgiven humanity, despite our brothers wishes, even their worst, most base of transgressions. So, maybe some day, you could do the same for him.”

Andrea shook her head, and looked down at her feet. In the light of the blood red moon, the grass underfoot looked inky black, like loose, floating tendrils of pitch darkness that coiled around her shoes, and she couldn’t help but smile. Even the world around her was trying to keep her in the present, even the grass wasn’t going to let her forget the predicament they were in. “Alright, I get the picture,” she said, though to no one in particular, and when she looked up at Balthazar it was with a small, sad grin. “He wasn’t a very good angel at all, was he?” she asked.

Balthazar scoffed, and scratched his head. “Depends on who you ask,” he said softly, surprising her with the look of affection that played across his face, “If you were to talk to Michael, Raphael, or any of our superiors, they’d tell you Castiel was a menace. The famous spanner in the works. He never once did as he was told, not really. He always managed to go his own way, to fuck their plans up beyond all repair, and every single time, he did it for the benefit of you.”

“What if I were to ask you?”

“Then, I would have to disagree with our superiors,” Balthazar looked at her with a raised brow, “and I think, at least a few of our siblings would agree with me. I don’t think Castiel was a bad angel. I don’t think he was broken, or made wrong. I think he was the only one of us who got it _right_.” He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder towards the bedroom window, the blinds shuttered to afford Cas and Daryl some privacy, still locked away in the room they were left in, as no one had the heart to interrupt their reunion. “Our father told us to serve you as we had served him. To love you above all else. My siblings took that instruction at face value only, watching over humanity and serving them only to the bare minimum. Castiel, though,” Balthazar smiled fondly, “he was the only one of us that took our fathers instructions— his last instructions, I might add—to heart. He was the only angel to ever do _exactly_ what he was told, not by Michael, but by God, and even though he was punished relentlessly for it, he never wavered. It is for that reason, that I believe Castiel was the very best of us. _We_ were the broken ones, and he was the only one who truly did as we were all supposed to.”

“But if that’s true,” Andrea said, biting her lower lip, “then why did he fall? If he was the angel that all the rest of you should aspire to be, then why did God kick him out?”

Balthazar ducked in close, looking over his shoulder at the window, as if he were afraid Castiel might be eavesdropping. “I don’t think God had anything to do with it,” Balthazar murmured into her ear, the scent of his cologne overpowering, “I don’t think God has had any power in Heaven for a long time.”

Andrea frowned, and tilting her head she whispered back, “What does that mean for the rest of us?”

“It means you should be very glad that out siblings have locked themselves behind the pearly gates,” Balthazar said, his lips brushing the curve of her ear, “because the only one sympathetic to your plight is down here, powerless with the rest of you, and the only one who could command them? Has been MIA for aeons.”

Humming under her breath, Andrea nodded and backed up, happy to get the angel out of her personal bubble. When he smiled at her though, she couldn’t help but smile back, surprised at the sincerity in her reaction, and she chuckled despite herself. “What?” Balthazar asked, smiling wider as her toothy grin seemed to be infectious.

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head, “I just think, I guess I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“See? I told you,” Balthazar said with a good-natured laugh, “Resilient.”

Andrea walked off towards the car without another word, nodding her goodbye before the angel flitted off somewhere else, disappearing before her very eyes, though this time, it wasn’t with her head hung low, her anxiety levels through the roof. She shrugged at Shane when he met her with a raised brow, looking at her smiling face warily. She didn’t know where the sudden turnabout in her mood had come from, but she figured it was hard to be afraid of someone, when they tried so hard to make you as comfortable as Balthazar had done for her.

She was also beginning to wonder if Cas was really the _only_ angel to give a shit about humanity, after all.

* * *

 

Castiel felt like a bag of smashed assholes.

The lights in the bedroom were back on, and Daryl had gone off to load up the Impala with all of their belongings, leaving Castiel alone to get dressed. He had offered to stay and help, but Cas had pulled a face, shooing him out of the room in order to maintain some level of dignity. He figured if he was well enough to roll around in bed with Daryl, he should have been well enough to get his clothes on by himself.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He had been standing in the middle of the room, his jeans on and his tee-shirt pulled over his head, for the past ten minutes, his skin crawling with goosebumps and his temperature fluctuating between freezing cold and burning hot at a breakneck speed. His legs shuddered under his weight, and his limbs felt heavy and slow like molasses. In all honesty, as he wavered on his feet, pausing halfway through pulling his shirt on his arms, he felt like death warmed over, but he figured that was to be expected. He had nearly died, after all.

But the feeling of nausea burning in the pit of his stomach was familiar, and the achiness of his skin and bones reminded him of such an awful period of his life, that he fought not to compare the two. If he were being truthful, he felt like he had when he stopped using, but there was no reason for him to be experiencing withdrawal symptoms at that point and time. Lori had confiscated the bottle he stole before he ever broke down and took one of those little, yellow pills. It had to be the aftereffects of being sick, of the infection that took his wings. Nothing more.

Besides, as sick as he felt, as precarious as their situation was, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. He was alive, they had a plan of escape, and if it went well, if it worked out? Once they came out on the other side, alive and well, he was going to be married. How they would go about it, they’d figure out later, but as of that very moment, it was what Castiel was fighting towards. He refused to go down, refused to be beaten before he got the chance to give himself to Daryl in the most primal way he could, and accept him in return. He was going to be a Dixon, even if it killed him.

Shirt on, body temperature returning to normal, Cas turned towards the bed, intending to pick up his sweater and head out the door… but no sooner had he spun on his heel, did his vision blur, morphing sideways and taking his stomach with it. Bile climbed up his throat as his legs gave way, and Castiel fell to his knees had, catching himself on his hands before his face smacked off the hardwood. He grappled blindly for the trashcan, his vision whiting out as his sickness peaked, and he breathed a cry of relief when his fingers curled around the cool plastic bucket, just getting it under his chin before he heaved the contents of his stomach into the bag.

There was nothing to throw up, really, just bile and a small amount of water, but his stomach tried valiantly to get it all out. His diaphragm spasmed, and his sides twitched in pain as he heaved repeatedly into the trashcan, his entire body weight pressing down onto the rim of the can as he leaned on it with his elbows. Eventually, the spasms died down and his vision returned, though his eyes were wet and blurry with the force of his coughs, and his head felt stuffed full of far too much air. He felt a little better, again, though experience was beginning to tell him that wasn’t a very good indicator of what he might feel like, given a few minutes. So, instead of pulling himself to his feet, he pushed the trashcan out of the way and sat back on his heels, wiping at his spittle covered lips with the back of his hand.

The room was still spinning, but it was rapidly slowing down, and he was beginning to pick up the vague shapes of objects around the room once more. Vague shapes turned into sharp images, and color returned, the floral run beneath him never looking as gaudy as it did in that moment. He frowned, however, when he caught a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye.

There was something under the bed. Something he couldn’t see when he was standing, and now that he was crouched on the floor, he could just pick out the barest hint of it showing through the holes in the knitted throw, which hung over the side of the mattress. Curious, Castiel leaned forward, groaning as he lowered himself onto his stomach, the pressure of pressing into the hardwood starting his stomach back up again, but he couldn’t dwell on that for long. The second he looked under the bed, his heart nearly stopped beating. His breath hitched, his face paled and he murmured an incredulous, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Lori had taken it from him, he remembered clearly. They had a little confrontation in the attic, before Shane had his freak out and killed Randall, leading to the events that had nearly gotten Castiel killed. She found the bottle in his front pocket and taken it from him, saying they would talk about it later… but then, later came and went, and with the aforementioned dying taking place, they hadn’t had time to chat.

So, there was no way that the bottle of Dilaudid she took from him was sitting underneath his bed.

But, there it was. And no matter how many times he closed his eyes, when he reopened them, it was still sitting there. It’s little white cap and see-through orange sides taunting him, keeping the twenty some odd yellow pills just out of his reach, but still within his sight.

He didn’t know how it got there, but he thought it must have been a joke. Some twisted, cosmic joke. A lesser deity fucking with him, for some reason or another. There was no way that, when he felt this sick, this weak, his greatest crutch was being dangled in front of his face, just on _accident_. Shit like this didn’t just _happen_. Coincidences like this didn’t come about on their own.

They do though, he thought to himself, resting his head on his hand, and laying on his stomach on the floor. He’d said as much to his father only a few hours ago. There were no cosmic consequences, and shit _did_ just happen. It was an accident. No one planted that bottle there, and there was no one waiting, watching just to see what he would do. It was just him, an innocuous bottle of pills and a decision that could destroy his life all over again. And it was up to him to choose whether to take the pills with him, or leave them where they were.

A knock at the door broke him out of his reverie, and he called out to Lori that he was on his way. But before Cas pushed himself up off the floor, he reached under the bed and grabbed the bottle, stuffing it in the pocket of his sweater on the way out the door.

They were good painkillers… what good would it do to leave them behind?

* * *

 

Rick was waiting in the hall when Daryl finally left the bedroom. He stood with his back to the opposite wall, facing the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he focused on the ground, and Daryl flushed hotly, closing the bedroom door behind him. “Could you at least _try_ to be less creepy?” Daryl asked, jamming his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the door.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” Rick said, uncrossing his arms and holding his hands up in the air, “Scouts honor. I didn’t think you’d be in there that long is all. I wanted to talk to you… ‘bout some of the stuff we’ve seen.”

Daryl winced. “No offense, man,” he said, shuffling back and forth between the balls of his feet, “but I ain’t sure I’m ready to talk about any of the shit we saw in Cas’ head. And I don’t know if I ever will be. Plus, I don’t think now’s the time, don’t you? We gotta get a move on, if we wanna get out of here.”

“That’s kind of the point,” stepping off the wall, Rick walked closer, their proximity in the tight quarters of the hallway a little too close for Daryl’s comfort. “Daryl, in the span of a day, I’ve learned that everything I thought I knew about the world is wrong,” he said, speaking in a hushed tone and eyeing the door over Daryl’s shoulder, “and I don’t want to bother Cas with this, after everything he’s been through, I just want to give him some time to get back to normal, y’know?”

Nodding slowly, Daryl asked, “So what do you want from me?”

“I need to know about what’s out there, man.” Rick sighed, looking three kinds of exhausted, the candlelit hall accentuating the bags under his eyes, “If there’s demons and monsters to worry about now, in addition to walkers, then I need to be prepared. I need to know what to look out for, and how to kill them. I need to know how to defend our group against them… and to do that, I need your help.”

“I hardly know more than you,” Daryl said, and honestly, he didn’t. What he knew of the supernatural, he learned from Cas and John Winchester’s journal. He wasn’t an expert by any means, “I know some basic shit about the stuff I’ve dealt with so far, but I’m not a hunter or nothin’.”

“Well, we gotta learn then. Because this shit is a very real threat, and I refuse to be caught unawares again.” Frowning, Rick tilted his head to the side and asked, “And what do you mean you don’t know? You can do all that psychic stuff, and you’ve got demon… something going on, right?”

“Yes, well that doesn’t exactly make me an authority on the subject,” Daryl snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and bristling at the word ‘demon,’ “I can hardly figure out how to use that ‘psychic stuff’ as is, and all I know about monsters comes from the Winchester’s journal. I think I can maybe convince Cas to part with that for a while, to lend to you, but other than that…” he shrugged helplessly, “we’re flying blind.”

Rick didn’t like that answer it seemed. He pursed his lips, giving Daryl a once over before clicking his tongue, “How did people figure this out before? These hunters, they were just normal people, right? How did they learn, and where did they get their information from?”

 “Most of ‘em had parents that were hunters, or they lost someone to a creature, and met other hunters in the process,” Daryl leaned against the bedroom door, “Most had a chip on their shoulder too, according to Cas. So, I guess they learned through word of mouth, and books. We could always check out some libraries? Other than that, though, it’s a bit of a guessing game. Every new creature is a lot of detective work… research, planning, predicting its next move, the whole nine.”

“Well, I got a leg up on that, then,” Rick said with a small smile, but it faded fast, “We need to start teaching everyone, whatever we need to keep them safe. Teaching ‘em to shoot? We’ve done that, but how do you kill a vampire? A werewolf? A demon?”

“Decapitation, silver, Castiel’s knife,” Daryl counted off on his fingers, without even thinking about it. He stood stunned, staring at his hand, wondering how he had done that. It had just come to him, without even having to think about it, he knew instinctively what to do for each of those creatures. “Salt and burn a corpse to get rid of a ghost,” he said softly, speaking to himself now, rather than Rick, who was nonetheless listening intently across the hall, “Only pure brass can kill a Rakshasa. Rosemary, salt and fire will kill a Lamia. Skinwalkers eyes flare in pictures and mirrors, and Changeling children all die when their mother is burned.”

“I thought you just said you _weren’t_ an expert…” Rick said drolly.

“I’m not, I mean, I shouldn’t be,” Daryl stammered, running a hand through his hair with a huff, “I don’t even know where all this is coming from.”

“Psychic stuff?” Rick offered, and Daryl shook his head.

“No, I think—” with a small smile, Daryl ran a hand over his eyes, chuckling to himself, “I think I actually learned somethin’ worthwhile from that fucking journal. I’ve been reading it non-stop for months, on account of there not being anything else, and I guess some of it just _stuck_.”

“Maybe you should start giving yourself more credit then,” Rick smiled back, “You’re smarter than you think you are, Daryl. Look at what you’ve done for Cas. If it weren’t for you keeping everyone on target, teaching them how to research this stuff and where to look for answers, Castiel wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Daryl blushed furiously, looking down at his feet as he bit out a quiet, “Man, shut up.” But, despite his self-consciousness, he couldn’t ignore the thrill of pride that he felt as he ran through every creature he could name in his head. He’d always been a hunter, out of necessity when he was a child and out of habit as an adult, but the whole time he had been with Castiel, he’d apparently been learning how to hunt a different kind of prey.

“When we get off this plane, and off the farm,” Daryl said, meeting Rick’s gaze, “I’ll teach you and everyone else what I know. Cas too.”

As if on cue, a loud thump and a retching sound burst through the bedroom door, startling both Rick and Daryl, who stared at the still closed door in shock. The heaving continued, though it sounded less violent as the seconds ticked on, and Daryl heard Castiel groan softly on the other side of the door. “Is he alright?” Rick asked, frowning.

“He almost died,” Daryl said, shrugging lackadaisically, his heart clenching with sympathy as he listened to Castiel’s sick, whimpering moans, to the way he cursed weakly under his breath, “If he wasn’t sick, then I’d be worried. Or, more worried, I guess.”

Rick patted him on the shoulder, and the point of contact, which not to long ago would have sent Daryl recoiling, spitting insults and putting distance between them, was barely a blip on his radar. He sighed, allowing himself to be reassured by the friendly weight of Rick’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be better in no time,” Rick said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced himself, “We both saw the kind of stuff he’d lived through, and he came out on the other side just fine. He’ll come out of this, too.”

Nodding (because what else could he do?), Daryl tore his eyes away from the door. “Remember what you promised,” he warned, taking a few steps down the hall, and pausing for Rick to follow, “You can’t let him know that you saw what happened to him in Chitaqua.”

“I remember, and I won’t,” Rick said, following along beside Daryl, rubbing his palms together uncomfortably and refusing to look Daryl in the eye, “I won’t mention his… habits, either.” He looked incredibly awkward, and Daryl didn’t blame him. There was no way they could have walked away from the memory of Castiel, beaten to a pulp and ruthlessly abused, without feeling out of sorts, and if Rick had, Daryl would have questioned his ability to empathize.

He himself had heard bits and pieces of that story from Cas, little disjointed anecdotes thrown in here or there, but Castiel had never told him the whole story. And as terrible a person it made him feel to admit, Daryl was glad when they walked into that memory that it was only the aftermath. When Balthazar proposed they’d be walking through Castiel’s recollections, Daryl had prayed to whoever might have been listening that he didn’t have to witness that night, the one Cas never told him about. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t listen, if Castiel ever wanted to tell him about it. He would, gladly, if it would make Cas feel better. But to hear it recalled in Castiel’s words was one thing… to see it happen, in front of his eyes?

He knew he could never handle that.

Even then, waking up next to Castiel, finding him alive and well after worrying he’d never see him again? Their reunion was soured by this sense of angry guilt, his shame at having peeked into a memory Cas had never offered to him freely. Castiel never told him about Jason, he never told him about the altercation he had with Ian afterwards, and Daryl respected that. Out of anyone, Daryl respected that. He knew what it was like to have memories you never wanted to face, that you didn’t let see the light of day, and that you certainly never told anyone about. The reason, whether a sense of shame, anger, embarrassment, or fear, didn’t matter… if it was something you couldn’t speak out loud, you didn’t (and shouldn’t) have to share it. And Daryl was more than happy to be kept in the dark in that respect, if it kept Castiel happy and safe. It was his right to his privacy, and Daryl would never have willingly broken that trust if he had any other choice.

But in the moment, even when he realized what he was seeing, he couldn’t look away. Rick gave him an out, told him to leave the room, but Daryl just couldn’t. And it wasn’t out of a morbid sense of curiosity, or a desire to learn something he might never get the chance to otherwise. It was out of solidarity, and support. It was out of empathy for Castiel that he stayed to witness that moment of complete emotional collapse, the pain and confusion, and the horrid (but, he supposed, well meaning) way that Ian had tried to comfort him. It was the apex of Castiel’s loneliness, that stagnant little cabin, and Daryl couldn’t look away, because he never wanted to forget the pain Cas had endured all on his own. He never wanted to forget, because he would never let it happen again.

Even still, he felt guilty. He knew he needed, or at least _should_ , tell Castiel that they’d seen that memory. That both he and Rick had witnessed his lowest possible moments, but Daryl didn’t know if he could handle it. The look on Cas’ face when Rick told him they’d tracked him through his memories was enough to convince Daryl he couldn’t. There was a dawning look of realization in that moment, followed by a complete and utter shut down of any outward emotional response. Cas wasn’t stupid; if he thought about it, he was certain to realize that any memory he went through in recounting his life to his absentee father, Daryl and Rick would have gone through as well. He was just refusing to comment on it, ignoring it in hopes that it would go away, and Daryl had to agree that was probably the best idea. So, unless Castiel wanted to bring it up himself, Daryl wasn’t going to broach the subject. And he was thankful Rick wasn’t going to either.

“He’s strong,” Rick said, when they reached the front door, “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and you make him even more so.”

Daryl murmured his thanks, reaching out to open the door when the knob turned, and Lori pushed it open. She paused in the doorway, her hand still wrapped around the knob and looked first at Daryl, nodding her head with a small smile, then to Rick. The second her gaze fell on her husband, her smile fell, and Rick turned immediately, his hands on his hips as he turned into the living room, pretending he was more interested in the decimated fire place than his wife. Lori sighed, biting her lip, and cast a harried glance at Daryl, who could only shrug helplessly, patting her on the shoulder as she walked by.

Once she had rounded the corner, no doubt going in after Castiel, Daryl turned to Rick, only to find him walking out the door, onto the lawn. He felt sorely dismissed, but it was a small wonder. Things had been rough between them since Rick found out about Shane, and even more tense since Lori had decided to side with Carl in staying behind to help Cas. Sure, Rick came around eventually, but he wasn’t easily swayed, and for her to go against his wishes, when all he wanted was to protect his family, despite her transgressions, apparently was the worst thing she could have done.

For her part, Lori seemed convinced that they would work things out. She kept up appearances, smiling at Rick and attempting to be as friendly as she could be whenever they ran into each other. But it wasn’t any use. Rick brushed her off, or outright ignored her, every time. And even though he’d still refer to her as his wife, and he still cared for her, he was insurmountably hurt. Daryl could see it in Rick’s face every time she walked away.

It had to be rough, he thought to himself, to find out that not only had your wife and best friend been sleeping together, but that she was pregnant with what, in all honesty, was probably Shane’s baby. You didn’t have to be a genius to do the math. Rick had only been back a few months, and Lori was further along than she should be… it wasn’t a fact that easily went over his head. It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t feel for Lori, either. On the contrary, he was there when she and Shane started sleeping together, and he remembered it being as innocent as can be. They were both grieving for Rick, and yeah, they might have waited till his body was cold, but he couldn’t blame any one person for needing a little closeness, especially in the shitty situation they had found themselves in.

He just couldn’t help sympathizing with Rick. He didn’t know what he would do, if Castiel ever did that to him. Regardless of the circumstances, no matter the scenarios he could come up with, it always stung. And Daryl couldn’t begin to imagine how you’d come back from that. How would you salvage a relationship once you didn’t trust each other anymore?

Jogging up behind Rick, he mirrored his earlier gesture of comfort, clapping his hand down on Rick’s shoulder, jolting the other man out of his thoughts. Rick looked at him, shocked, but only for a moment, before he smiled at him thankfully. They didn’t linger, they couldn’t rightly afford to. The light in the bedroom had just gone off, Castiel walked outside with Lori helping him along, and the farmhouse stood, stalwart and dark, empty as they began their departure.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry I was so mad at you.”

Castiel almost smacked his head off of the top of the Impala’s trunk, jolting in surprise when he heard Lori’s voice behind him. She had come out of nowhere, snuck up behind him as he was packing his stuff away, and Cas carefully extricated himself from his car. “What?” he asked, closing the trunk and leaning back against it, watching her warily as she stood next to him, staring up at the sky.

“While you were sick, after Shane told us what you did, I was furious. You lied to my face, Castiel.” The truth stung, though Cas guessed he should have expected it. Lori shook her head and pointed up towards the farmhouse, which sat dark and empty, their group having vacated it completely, “You sat in that room and you told me you had no idea why any of this was happening. But you did, and you were responsible for it all along.”

“I know,” Castiel said, because what else was there he could say? “I’m sorry, Lor.”

Lori sighed heavily, sitting next to him on the trunk of the Impala. “Save it. I’m not mad anymore,” she frowned, screwing up her lips before she acquiesced, “Well, I’m still a little mad. But leaving you to die was a big misnomer on my part, and I know what it feels like to do something you regret.” Lori’s gaze drifted across the field, landing on Shane, who was speaking in hushed tones with Balthazar and Daryl, her hand ghosting across her abdomen, “Something you wish you could take back…”

“I wish I could have told you. I almost did, so many times, I just didn’t know how.”

“I get it.” Lori said, shaking her head, “Just… promise me, for real this time, that you will never, ever keep something like this from me again. I’m always here, you can always come to me. And I promise I won’t abandon you again.”

“I promise,” Cas said, reaching out and grabbing her hand, “And you didn’t… you’re still here.”

Exhaling shakily, Lori squeezed his hand tightly, her eyes swimming with tears. “God, I thought you were dead,” she cried, and Castiel didn’t hesitate to reach out and pull her against him. She folded against his chest and looped her arms around his waist, balling his shirt in her fists, and muttered, “I thought you were gone for certain.”

“I’m not,” Castiel ran his hand up her back, and pressed a kiss into her hair, wild and unruly, piled into a low bun on the top of her head, “thanks to you.”

Someone cleared their throat, and Lori pulled back immediately, wiping the tears from her eyes. Cas smiled at Balthazar, who was standing a polite distance from them, and said, “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but… we need to get going.”

Castiel nodded his head, closing the trunk. Balthazar was right, and he cast a nervous glance up at the red, dark sky. It had gotten murkier, and he could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet. The first of the tremors had begun only ten minutes ago, shaking the house and the barn, the silent field filled with the sounds of creaking wood and metal joints. Asmodeus had begun collapsing the world in around them, and they couldn’t afford to waste much more time.

“Oh,” Lori reached behind her back, and Castiel glanced at her curiously as she handed something to Baltazar, “Before I forget, this is yours, right? You should have it back.”

Staring stunned, Castiel and Balthazar both gaped at the angel blade in her hand, which she held out in the air in front of them. She balked when neither of them moved or spoke, and backed away under the intensity of their stares, her fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade.

“Where did you get that?” Castiel stammered, blinking a few times to clear his vision, thinking maybe he was imagining the Enochian sigils carved along the side of the blade. He had to be, there was no way…

“Balthazar gave it to me, to save you.” Lori said, trying to sound assertive, but her voice wavered as both brothers continued to stare at her like gawking fish. She looked at Balthazar, “Tell him! You left me the blade and the spell, the one written on the back of a candy bar wrapper. I prayed to you…” she urged, tilting her head to the side at Balthazar’s blank expression, “to save Cas?”

Shaking his head, Balthazar flicked his wrist, sliding his own blade out of his jacket sleeve, glinting in the hazy moonlight as he held it up for them to see. “That’s not mine,” he said, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Spell on a candy bar wrapper?” Castiel asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Balthazar barked out a laugh, “That sly fucking dog.”

“That’s not possible,” Cas breathed, “isn’t possible, he _died_!”

“Come now, Cassie! We all thought he was dead for years,” clapping Cas on the back, Balthazar leaned forward, trying to get his giddy laughter under control, “Apparently, he’s a much better faker than I could ever hope to be.”

“Who?” Lori demanded, hands stuck on her hips and her frustration mounting, “Who the hell are you talking about? Whose knife is this?”

Pointing at the knife in her hand with his own blade, Balthazar said, “That there is an archangels blade, my dear. Belonging to our brother, Gabriel.”

“He’s been alive, this whole time…” Castiel exhaled slowly, leaning back against the Impala for support.

Balthazar nodded, “Hiding away, no doubt. You should feel honored, apparently our brother has a soft spot where you’re concerned, Cassie. And that also means, by my latest count, there are four angels still surviving here on earth.”

That gave Castiel pause. “Four?” he asked.

“Yourself, yours truly, Gabriel, and the Scribe,” Balthazar counted off on his fingers, “Metatron has been down here for eons, living amongst the humans.”

“Metatron? How…” Cas broke off, frowning, “and I’m not an angel.”

“You will always be an angel,” Balthazar said softly, “Wings or no, grace or no, that is who you are.”

Smiling despite himself, Castiel cast his brother a soft eyed smile. It had been aeons, it had been _so_ long since they had seen each other, and yet Balthazar was the same as always… cheerful, supportive (of him, at least), and loyal to the bitter end.

“Um,” Lori interjected, now holding the blade between her thumb and forefinger, a good distance from her body, “what should I do with this?”

“Well, unless Gabriel comes to collect, I’d say…” Balthazar shrugged, “finder’s keepers?”

“It’s yours, Lor,” Castiel said, “You’ve more than earned it.”

Lori looked down at it and smiled, flipping it in her hand until she was holding it properly, gripping it as if she were made for it. “Cool,” she said with a nod, feeling the weight of it in her hand before slipping it into the beltloop of her jeans. Without a word, she walked off, giving them a curt wave over her shoulder as she headed towards her car, where Rick and Carl were waiting for her.

“I think now is a good time to go, don’t you?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, “I know you won’t listen—"

“You know me well, then.”

“But I need to ask you, one last time,” turning to his brother, Castiel pleaded, “Balthazar, please don’t do this.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’ll die.”

“I’ll be _fine_.” Balthazar looked at him incredulously, “a little faith wouldn’t kill you, now and again.”

“Why are you doing this for us?” Cas asked, switching gears.

“For you.” Correcting him, Balthazar stepped towards Cas, grabbing on to both of his shoulders and squeezing tight, “I couldn’t give two shits about these bloody hairless apes. I’m doing this for _you_. Because as far as I’m concerned, you and me? Nothing's changed. We're brothers. Of course I want to help you.”

Reaching up, Castiel laid his hands over Balthazar’s, “If you do this, then your little holiday is over. Every supernatural being on this plane will know you’re alive.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he chuckled, shrugging his shoulders and looking up at Cas balefully, “Can’t be on sabbatical forever, you know.”

With a frustrated sound, Castiel knock his brothers hands off of his shoulders, stalking a few feet away before whipping back around. “Why are you completely incapable of taking anything seriously!?” he demanded, shouting now, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, who stopped and stared at the angels quarreling on the lawn.

“Why are you completely incapable of trusting what I say!?” Balthazar shouted right back, closing the distance between them and getting right back in Castiel’s face, “Ever since you were a child, you were always so fucking obstinate!”

Cas jabbed his finger into Balthazar’s chest, “And you’ve always been an impulsive, reckless fool! I don’t have enough fingers to count the times you’ve gotten us into trouble!”

His chest was rising rapidly, heart beating faster in his frustration. He was burning hot, and not just with sickness, but with anger. This was so like his brother, Castiel thought, gritting his teeth. He was always acting before thinking, planning things only half way and winging the rest. And there was no end to his bravado! No matter how hopeless the situation may be, Balthazar always answered it with a challenging grin and a never-say-die attitude that drove Castiel absolutely mental.

But seeing his brother, in someone else’s body or not, standing in front of him and biting back an amused grin… even though he was frustrated, furious with him? Castiel couldn’t help the unabashed rush of affection that overcame him. Balthazar was thoughtless, impulsive and greedy, but he was his _brother_. And he was there, against all odds, after Castiel thought he was dead. He was still helping him, still trying to get him out of shitty scenarios with his terrible plans, after all this time, and Castiel relented when Balthazar said, “I always got us out, didn’t I?”

Knowing his brother wouldn’t appreciate or understand it, but not finding it in himself to care, Castiel lunged at Balthazar, wrapping his arms around him in a gigantic bear hug. Balthazar gasped and tried to step back, but Cas held him fast and buried his face in the front of his brother’s shirt. His cologne was overwhelming, though Cas knew Balthazar couldn’t smell it, and it was so incredibly odd to hold him in this vessel, but his body was warm and alive, and when Balthazar hesitatingly patted him on the back, Castiel sighed in relief. “What will you do, if you survive this?” Cas asked, his voice muffled.

“I don’t know,” Balthazar hummed thoughtfully, “Maybe head upstairs, see what all the fuss is about. Maybe track down our brothers on earth. Who knows? The world is my slowly dying oyster. What will you do?”

Cas shrugged, “Eat. Sleep. Kill things. Repeat.”

“That sounds like the life.”

Castiel looked up at his brother and smiled softly, “It is.”

Pulling away, Balthazar patted Castiel’s arm awkwardly. “Well, if ever you have any grander ambitions, or if you find yourself going after our dear old Morningstar again, you give me a ring,” he said, catching Castiel’s gaze and holding it, “I mean it… in for a penny, in for a pound. I’m with you, Castiel.”

“Thank you—”

The earth shook beneath their feet, no longer a dull trembling but a raucous, grinding rumble. Cas was pitched backwards, stumbling and hitting the back of the car with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. Across the lawn, someone screamed, and cars rocked back and forth on their frames, creaking eerily in the near silence of their pocket dimension.

Unlike the last couple of times, the rumbling quakes didn’t taper off. If anything, they grew in intensity, and the leaves in the forest around the shook along with it, sounding like the non-existent wind was whipping at them instead. The tree in front of the farmhouse creaked and swayed, back and forth, three times before the trunk cracked, and with a loud groan it tumbled down, hitting the porch and caving in the roof of the farmhouse.

“Everyone, we need to go, now!” Balthazar shouted, thought his reminder wasn’t necessary. Every single person was scrambling into their cars, doors opening and closing, engines roaring to life, even though the sound of them was buried beneath the groaning of the trees.

Castiel sprinted around to the driver’s seat, hopping into the car, only to be shoved over onto the passenger side by Daryl, who slid in after him. “What are you doing?” Cas asked, having to shout over the noise, “What about Merle’s bike?!”

“Forget the damn bike!” Daryl shouted in answer, turning the key in the ignition and ignoring Castiel’s weak protests. Glenn and Maggie climbed into the backseat with Beth, talking hurriedly over top of one another, Beth in near tears as they closed the doors behind them.

Cas shook his head and reached out for the keys. “You can’t leave it behind, Daryl—”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Daryl batted his hand out of the way, only to grab it with both of his. Castiel looked him in the eye, wide and terrified, and Daryl squeezed his hand tight enough to bruise as he said, “I’m not letting you do this alone! We do it together, or not at all!” His breath was coming in pants, audible, panicked gusts that echoed off the windows of the car, but he was unwavering. Scared, but brave and Castiel nodded, squeezing his hand back before relinquishing it, and rolling down his window.

The cars were lined up, horizontally along the drive. They were only taking four, just enough to hold them and no more, and Castiel could only assume the goal was to each hit the breech at the same time, taking full advantage of the brief window of opportunity Balthazar might be able to afford them. There was a loud crack, and the sound of sputtering flames from behind them, and Balthazar stood with his back to the cars, facing towards the farm. “When you see the bright flash,” Balthazar bellowed, his hands spread out at his sides, “Go! As fast as you can! I’ll hold it for as long as I can manage, but you need to hurry!”

There was a flash of orange in the rear-view mirror, and Cas heard Maggie moan, “Oh God…” Looking over his shoulder, out the window, he could see the barn aflame. It lit up like a tinder plug, already engulfed in flames, the bright orange streaks licking up at the darkening sky, and Balthazar cursed under his breath.

“Balthazar!” Castiel screamed, and his brother hazarded a glance over his shoulder, his expression unschooled just long enough for Cas to see the unabashed terror in his eyes, “Don’t fucking die!”

Scoffing in disbelief, Balthazar shook his head wryly, and held up his thumb.

There was a scream.

A crack.

A voice, and then a flash.

The engine rumbled, then roared, deafening him inside of the dark cabin of the car.

A glint of headlights, and perfect silence.

There was darkness, a swirling miasma, and then every color Castiel had ever seen.

And finally, rubber squealing against the pavement. Daryl cursing, the car swerving out of the way of Rick’s station wagon, which stopped too suddenly right in front of the Impala. A horn honking, and someone hooting in triumph.

There was sunlight.

Castiel threw open the passenger side door, basically falling out of the car in his rush to get out. Daryl called after him, but he couldn’t stop, sprinting on weak, trembling legs back up the drive. Rick tried to stop him as he passed, but Castiel swerved out of his way, his feet pounding against the pavement, kicking up dust when the road turned into the familiar gravel drive of the farm. He could gear someone calling his name, and he could hear footsteps behind him, but he couldn’t stop. He was a man possessed, running on someone else’s whims as he silently prayed, begged and pleaded for him to be there.

With a startled shout, Castiel was pulled backwards, someone having grabbed him by the collar of his tee-shirt. He slid, his heels skidding in the dirt and fell gracelessly to his rear, two skinny arms winding around his shoulders, thin boned fingers knotting over his chest. Lori held him to her chest, kneeling behind him, having pulled him back just before he went tumbling into the enormous crater in the ground, not three inches from where they sat.

The whole farm was gone.

Every field, the barn, the house and the driveway. Every fence and tree, and a huge swath of the treeline surrounding the property… it was all gone. And in its place was a gigantic, smoldering crater, at least thirty feet deep, carved into the earth.

Maggie was sobbing behind them, clinging to her father and sister as they bemoaned the loss of their home, staring into the empty abyss where they grew up. Patricia and Jimmy too, after climbing out of T-Dog’s pick up, were standing in shock, gaping at the smoldering abyss. Lori held Cas tight to her chest, whispering something in his ear, something he comforting he imagined, but he didn’t want comfort. He wanted his brother, and with all of the strength left in his weakened limbs, Castiel pulled from her grasp and climbed to his feet.

“Balthazar!” He bellowed across the abyss, cupping his hands around his mouth to carry his voice, which rang back at him from along the barren space, “ _Balthazar_!!”  

Lori called his name, but he ignored her too, pacing the edge of the cliff in front of him, the sun foreign as it beat down on his bare arms, his neck. He hollered his brothers name like a mad man, tears prickling at his eyes, and the longer he went without an answer, the more panicked he became. His ears rang with the sound of his blood pounding, his stomach rolling uncomfortably as he knotted his fingers in his hair. “Bal, _please!”_ He cried, but he didn’t hear it, rapidly losing hope as he let his tears fall, his vision blurring and clearing against every time he blinked.

Another set of hands grabbed his shoulders, this time firm and familiar, large and work worn, and Castiel spun on his heel, catapulting himself into Daryl’s arms, bawling. He heaved with each cry, wounded, painful sobs wrenching themselves from his chest, and Daryl held him up, his hands gripping Cas tight, pulling him closer, as near as he could get him. “I’m so sorry, Cas,” Daryl whispered, his voice trembling, “I’m sorry.”

Cas couldn’t say how long they stood there, at the edge of that smoldering pit. Eventually he calmed, but he didn’t feel right. He still felt tired, heavy and sick, and he could still barely hold himself on his own two feet. Daryl kept him upright, looping his arm under Castiel’s as he walked him back to the car, murmuring his own words of comfort as the lumbered down the drive. Rick and Shane were shouting now, hurrying everyone back into their vehicles, and there was the sound of gunshots as Croats began clambering out of the trees. Some fell into the pit, their bones cracking on impact, but others looped around, making their slow and steady approach towards the group.

In the Impala, it wasn’t any better. Castiel slumped against the door where Daryl sat him, pressed into the passenger side window as the sniffled to himself, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Maggie, Glenn and Beth were in the backseat again, with Glenn in the middle, holding both girls to either side of him as they cried, reaching out across his front and clasping hands, holding on to each other as well. Daryl grumbled something as he settled in the driver’s seat, kickstarting the engine again and throwing her into gear, but as he rolled down the window and fished a cigarette out of the pack in the cupholder, his fingers were trembling wildly, and he was barely able to light his smoke.

They followed Rick down the drive, and were followed by T and Shane. Their entire family crammed into four cars, they started back down to the I-85, no destination in mind other than far away from here. Cas stared dully out the window, the sun hurting his eyes, but he didn’t give a shit. His forehead pressed against the glass, he watched as the world whipped by, random Croats dotting the road, abandoned cars on the shoulder and animals in the surrounding fields.

Daryl tapped him on the shoulder, and Cas turned, finding him focused on the road, driving with one hand as he held the cigarette out to Castiel. Taking the half-burned smoke from his fingers, Cas took a long drag, letting the familiar burn ache in his lungs, ground him in that car, on that road. His head still pounded, he felt as if he could throw up, and the sound of the tires rumbling on the gravel was like a jackhammer in his ears, but oddly enough, smoking helped. It was familiar, repetitive, and he looked over at Daryl again, finding him still driving with one hand on the wheel, the other hovering in front of his mouth, his thumbnail once again between his teeth.

"Maybe he's still alive," Cas murmured, watching the road whirl underneath them as he stared out the windshield.

"He's your brother," Daryl said, shrugging his shoulder as he chomped down on his poor thumb, "If he's anything like you, he's too stubborn to die. 

With a sigh, and a small, fond smile, Castiel reached up and grabbed Daryl’s hand, tugging it away from his lips and lacing their fingers together, letting their joined hands fall to the leather seat between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW - This is unedited. I wanted to get it posted before I went away, so please excuse any grammatical/spelling/continuity errors! I will check it over when I get home, but if you spot any issues in the meantime, please let me know! It would be greatly appreciated :)


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